


Basic Needs

by Dinkel



Series: Basic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azkaban, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slash, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinkel/pseuds/Dinkel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually, the constant denial of the essentials, such as sleep, water, food and human contact, got to everyone in Azkaban, even the infamous Fenrir Greyback. However, one full moon and an unexpected visitor might just change everything...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a repost of one of my older stories - enjoy!

Fenrir stood facing the small barred window that allowed him a limited view on the night sky and at the waning moon. Just barely had he survived another full moon, and he was still debating if he should celebrate the fact or despair at it. His muscles ached, but his wounds and self-inflicted injuries had already closed and healed, leaving him an impressive figure. He was tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and a face too rough and edgy to be called handsome. Nonetheless, he had a striking appearance, and every reasonable person would think twice before messing with him.

It still gave him a small amount of satisfaction to see the guards and other prisoners shy away from him. They were all afraid of the big bad wolf. Even after all these years. A slow smirk spread over his face, but before it could reach his golden eyes, it faded away into nothingness again. Happy thoughts were still short-lived in here, even though most of the Dementors had been replaced by human guards once the Dark Lord had risen again. But for Fenrir, this relief, as the other prisoners called it, was hardly worth mentioning. His problems weren’t the Dementors or guards; his problem was being locked in a dingy cell, being surrounded by silver - custom-built for him - and being all alone without his pack. He hated it.

He looked disdainfully around his small, seedy cell, at the broken cot which had given out under his weight, and a bit of straw that served as his bed for the night now; not that he ever found sleep on it. The walls were heavy blocks of stone, too strong even for him, and were additionally warded and protected by magic to keep them together. Other than that, he had only a jug with more or less clean water and a pot to relieve himself. The silver bars on his window and door glimmered maliciously at him. He hated it in here.

He tilted his head to the left, his long grey-silver hair whispering against his bare back, and listened to the murmur of voices coming closer to his cell.

Two guards, dragging something or someone. He recognised their voices: Patrick Berg and Shawn Duren. One a self-righteous prig who thought he did the world a huge favour by treating the prisoners like the lowest scum, and the other, a little pervert who had no problem watching weaker prisoners being raped in the showers.

Fenrir's upper lip curled into a snarl. How he would like to rip out their intestines and watch them bleed to death on the dirty floor. He listened more closely to make out their words. Anything to distract himself from the all-consuming loneliness which threatened to overwhelm him completely, like it had done with so many of the other prisoners. But he was stronger than those weak, prejudiced creatures; their stupid wand-waving and magic tricks counted for nothing in here, and they lost themselves, mourning for magic they could never have again and begging for mercy they should by now know would never be given. He would never give up or lose himself in despair.

“...with the rest of them, I say,” Duren said. “He can get used to his new life right away. Why should we give him special treatment again? He’s the worst scum of a traitor, and he deserves everything he gets, Patrick!”

“Not arguing with you over orders. But law is law, and he’s not of age yet, so we’ll put him into solitary,” Berg replied with the air of someone who had said the same thing at least three times already.

“Saw pictures of what he did, Patrick? No child could do something like that, and the sooner he learns his lesson the better. Better get rid of him now before You-Know-Who comes for him, if you ask me.”

Fenrir stepped a little closer to his cell door, careful not to come into contact with the silver bars, so that he could see them walk past.

“But I’m not asking you, Shawn. Now help me get him into his cell. I’d rather not deal with him when he’s conscious.”

“Dementors done him good, didn’t they?” Duren snickered. “Maybe we should put some of them on guard in front of his cell. I could watch him as well.”

“That’s an idea,” Berg agreed. “Extra caution's certainly not amiss when dealing with someone like that.”

They were so close now Fenrir could smell them. Two old, repulsive scents and one new, fresh, enticing. The new prisoner smelled young and male and hurt. Fenrir's wolf slobbered at the sweet smell of fresh blood, and he closed his eyes to keep in control.

Wand light flickered into the corridor that he could see, and soon the two guards appeared in his line of vision. They dragged their prisoner between them, but Fenrir couldn’t make him out clearly. It was as if his contours were blurred, and Fenrir could smell the magic that surrounded him. Concealing Spells. Interesting, why would they want to keep the prisoner’s identity a secret? And the youth of the prisoner was curious as well. This was the high-security ward, after all, for the worst of the prisoners: Death Eaters, murderers, rapists, something in between, or everything combined. He wondered how a child could reach that level of immorality and depravity. Then again, wizards had no standards to begin with.

He could no longer see the two guards or the new prisoner, but his hearing told him everything he needed to know. Their steps faded until they finally came to a halt. The short silence was interrupted by the jingling of keys, then a heavy door was unlocked, and it creaked open. A thin, light body was shoved to the ground, and Fenrir heard the distinctive noise of a boot slamming into someone’s unprotected ribcage. There was no whimper or cry of pain, so the new prisoner must be still unconscious. The guards shut the door and locked it, both mechanically and magically, and after a minute, the two men made their way back.

“I’ll bring him some water later, when I assign the Dementors to their new posts and check in on him,” Duren stated, and Berg grunted in agreement. They both fell silent as they passed Fenrir's cell.

Fenrir turned back to the window, the new prisoner already forgotten; he wouldn’t last long anyway. Fenrir stared at overcast moon and fell back into his indescribable state of longing and depression. Sleep would not find him in here, never, for Morpheus did not come to Azkaban. No one did, if they could at all help it.

*_*_*

 

Full moon.

Pain. Desperation. Agony. _Had it ever been different?_ Fenrir wasn’t sure anymore, and for the first time in his life, he dreaded the rise of the moon, the painful transformation, the loss of control. He had always been in control of his wolf, but now he couldn’t keep from throwing himself against the silver bars of his cell, chomping at them until his gums bled, then biting and scratching at his own body when the beast inside him realised it couldn’t get out of the prison. His human mind cowered from the fury of the wolf, from the frantic need to get out or die trying.

Once again, snarling, he hurled himself at the door with teeth bared, but the door didn’t give. He angled his body so his shoulder slammed into the silver bars, burning his fur and the skin beneath. The werewolf howled in pain and anger, but the door hadn’t budged. After a careless lick over his bleeding side -- he had too many injuries to do them all justice -- he attacked again. And again. And again, until his fur was coated in blood, and his legs threatened to give out under him. Stop! His wolf ignored his human side, and his beast reared up to charge the door again.

Unnoticed, a white shadow slipped into his cell. Just as Fenrir twisted to throw his shoulder against the bars again, the shadow intervened, cushioning the impact with its own body. Surprised, Fenrir took a step back to get a better look at the small, crumpled form which now lay against the door.

_Another wolf?_ The beast in him almost summersaulted with joy. A cub, a companion. Someone!

But something irked him about the other werewolf, and he studied the creature more closely. The other wolf was more than just slender; the span of his shoulders was barely half of Fenrir’s own, and thus he had easily slipped past the bars. His fur was the brightest white, leaving only the tips of his ears and the fur around his eyes pitch black, as if someone had thought it funny to make him up. Fenrir couldn’t see the wolf's eyes; they were still closed. And then it struck him: the other wolf was slumped against the **silver** door. No werewolf then, but how could a real wolf have come into Azkaban?

The other canine's eyes fluttered open and immediately focused on Fenrir, offering not a hint of submission in the green depths. Fenrir growled warningly, and the other wolf ducked down, his belly pressed against the cold floor, but he didn’t lower his eyes, still staring at Fenrir, who growled again, this time receiving a small yip and tail wag in reply.

Fenrir was still contemplating how to respond to such a strange behaviour when the white wolf suddenly rose. The wolf then butted his nose against Fenrir’s and licked at a long smear of blood running from Fenrir's shoulder to the base of his tail. Fenrir allowed it, though he couldn’t explain why. He also didn’t complain when the smaller wolf -- compared to Fenrir, he was tiny -- made to clean his other wounds as well.

When the new wolf was finished with one side, he dived under Fenrir’s belly to reach the other side. However, that brought the silver door back into Fenrir’s line of vision. The door to freedom. He growled angrily, meaning to make another attempt of escape, but once again, the cub intervened, jumping between him and the door, then growling deeply, crouched in preparation to attack.

Startled, Fenrir hesitated, but freedom's call was relentless, and he charged the door again. He had wanted to make a clear jump over the smaller wolf’s form to reach the door, but at the last moment, the other wolf rose onto his hind legs, blocking the way. For the second time, Fenrir crashed full force into the other canine. This time, the small wolf went down with a sharp cry.

Fenrir saw his chance and rushed the door once more. Before he made it, sharp teeth sank into his hind leg, not too deeply, but enough to be distracting. With a growl and bared teeth, Fenrir spun around, and when the new wolf didn’t duck fast enough, he sank his teeth deep into the cub's soft, white hide. The young wolf whimpered in pain and fell to the ground again.

A wave of guilt washed over Fenrir, causing his wolfish side to retreat. He gently nudged the cub’s belly, receiving another small whimper, and then carefully took him by the scruff of his neck, to carry him to his bedding. He put his new companion on the straw, then laid down next to him. To his surprise, the little wolf didn’t seem to want to stay still, but began to lick Fenrir’s wounds clean again, heedless of his own injuries.

Finally, though, Fenrir felt he was sufficiently clean, and his wounds had already begun to close. He pulled the white wolf down next to him, soothingly butting noses with him, before he licked at the bite he had inflicted. The wound was still bleeding. With a pang, he realised he had bitten down harder than he had intended. At least the wound wasn’t near any vital organs. He licked the wound clean, while the cub remained calm and relaxed, his head resting on Fenrir’s front paws and lying so close Fenrir could feel the soft up and down of his breaths. It felt good to have company, and such cute company as well.

Fenrir's eyelids grew heavy while he continued to nuzzle the smaller wolf, his own wolf whining happily on the inside. The urge to run and obtain freedom was forgotten, when his wolf sensed the prospect of leading a pack again, however small it may be.

*_*_*

Fenrir awoke in his human body, and he woke alone. Traces of the white wolf’s smell lingered, and the straw next to him was warm, but the wolf was gone. Fenrir scowled darkly, baring his teeth. _How dare the cub leave?! He belonged to him now!_

After he was done cursing his disloyal pack mate, he cursed himself for falling asleep. He hadn’t even properly claimed the other wolf with his scent, and though Fenrir was sure that the white canine smelled as much of him as the other way round, it was an oversight he surely wouldn’t commit again. If he ever got the chance.

_Damn the cub!_

*_*_*

Three month later, Fenrir was almost giddy as he paced his cell, impatiently waiting for the moon to rise. Soon he would see his cub again. It was the fourth full moon since the white wolf had first appeared, and he still hadn’t figured out how a wolf managed to get unseen into Azkaban, nor why his cub seemed to be uncommonly intelligent for a normal wolf, but he didn’t care anymore. The only thing that still annoyed him was how the wolf always slipped away, come morning. The cub struggled and twisted out of his arms, bit him even, pretended to give in or panted so heavily he loosened his hold just minutely, his cub was gone.

At least he always came back.

A soft, questioning yip greeted him as the white wolf entered his cell.

A smile spread over his own bearded face as he dropped to his knees to scratch the cub behind his black-rimmed ear. “Hey, there, my little beauty. You are not scared of me, are you? I’ll soon be just like you remember.”

The cub's green eyes seemed to sparkle with laughter as he skipped around Fenrir, teasingly snatching at the man’s silver hair or licking his hands.

Fenrir laughed at his antics, but stopped when he felt the telltale tingles of the transformation. This time, he barely felt the pain. His body morphed smoothly into his second form. Soon enough, he was playing with his white companion, scuffling with him, giving warning shallow bites when the other canine got too cheeky, and rubbing himself against the agile little wolf to mark him with his scent as one of his pack.

Later, they laid together with the cub snuggled into him and panting softly, seemingly tired out from their little tussle. Fenrir thought it a pity his little wolf wasn’t a real werewolf. Else, he would have made the perfect addition to his old pack - and to his bed. Even so, Fenrir would make sure to keep him with him for a long time, and this time he wouldn’t let the white wolf get away when the sun rose.


	2. Water

The cub was trying to escape again! But this time Fenrir was prepared, and when the white wolf tried to wriggle out from between him and the wall, Fenrir rolled half on top of him to keep his wayward pack member in place.

“No, you don’t, cub,” he grumbled, burying his hands in the thick white fur. “You’ll stay with me, my little wolf. You’ll see, I’ll take good care of you, now calm down.”

In reply, the cub sank his teeth into Fenrir’s arm, kicked with his legs to try to get out from under him, and growled angrily.

Fenrir cuffed the wolf warningly, drawing a whine from his pack member. He also received an accusing stare that made him feel like he deserved Azkaban, but he kept a tight hold of his cub.

“Your own fault,” he explained gruffly. “If you were reasonable and didn’t always run out on me, I wouldn’t have to -- Damnit, don’t bite me again, you little madcap.” The cub’s fangs had once again found flesh, this time on his thigh.

The white wolf looked innocently up at him, butting his cold nose against the werewolf’s cheek as if to ask what he was talking about.

“You...” Fenrir stopped, unsure of how to continue, but then sighed and began to scratch the cub’s soft belly. “Why don’t you want to stay, cub? Am I so unlikable in my human form?”

A gentle lick to his nose and a strangely purr-like growl were his answer, and he chuckled, carding his fingers through the fluffy, white fur. Just as he was getting used to the relaxed, peaceful atmosphere, however, the small wolf changed his mind again and started another attempt of escape. This time he managed to break free of Fenrir’s embrace and get half way to the door before Fenrir caught him with a lunge, trapping the thin canine under his body. The werewolf growled in annoyance and grabbed the cub by the scruff of his neck, shaking and reprimanding him as he carried him back to the straw.

“Stupid little thing, I told you, you’re staying here from now on. Do I have to get forceful?” Fenrir demanded, harshly tucking the white wolf under his blanket and once again pinning him with his weight. 

The cub whimpered, panting and wriggling, but Fenrir didn’t relent. But then the white wolf went limp, and Fenrir grew worried enough to pull the blanket down, allowing the little one to push his head out of the confinement to gasp for air.

“There you go, little beauty,” Fenrir murmured. “Wouldn’t want you to suffocate, but you’ve to stop being such a fool. You’ll only get hurt, my wee cub.”

He smoothed his hand over the small wolf's head again, and the cub gradually calmed, regained his breath, and passively enjoyed Fenrir’s ministrations. Suddenly the young wolf perked up and cocked his ears, and moments later Fenrir could also hear steps and voices in the distance. He cursed softly, looking down on the small wolf, who was once again struggling to get free. 

“Shh, now, I have to listen,” he whispered to the cub, who surprisingly fell still, allowing him to focus on the noises in the distance. He soon discerned it wasn’t merely the usual patrol in the mornings, which would have made it feasible for him to hide the small cub for the short time while they passed his cell, but a larger troop, at least five guards.

The guards had apparently decided it was time for the prisoners to shower and clean up, and as much as he normally looked forward to getting rid of the filth which clung to his skin, making him almost physically sick, today it meant he would have to leave his cub alone, and he didn’t doubt he would come back to an empty cell.

“Fine, you win, my little beauty.” Fenrir sighed deeply, releasing his cub from under his body and helping him out of the blanket cocoon. “Maybe you’ll like me better once I don’t stink anymore.”

The cub yipped, snatching at his silver hair and sending him a wolfish grin, before trotting to the door and slipping through the silver bars. Fenrir dearly hoped this hadn’t been the last time he had seen his cub, and that the white canine would at least join him again on the next full moon. How pathetic was it to be so dependent on and smitten with a simple wolf cub? With a deep groan, he let himself fall back on the straw, closing his eyes and wearily rubbing his flat nose. 

How did the cub manage to get into Azkaban time after time? Did he really only come to keep an old werewolf company? How was it that the white wolf seemed to understand everything said to him, and why was he so oblivious to the ways a real wolf should behave: disobeying his Alpha, not lowering his eyes, acting confused when Fenrir marked him with his scent? He startled when he realized what he had thought. 

_Real wolf?_

Of course his cub was a real wolf! What else would he be? Not a werewolf, that was for sure, and the thought of an Animagus, a wizard in disguise, coming to him of all people, was more than laughable. Wizards weren’t worth the air they breathed, much less one single thought. So his cub was a real cub who felt drawn to an Alpha. Not exactly likely but still within the realms of possibility. His cub, his little white one, was just special, and he’d be damned if he lost the only companion he had in here. Maybe he could try to offer the little wolf some food? Maybe that was why he left, because he was hungry? But where could he get the wolf something to eat?

The signal to step away from the doors rang through every cell, but as Fenrir was still busy brooding, he didn’t react. 

“Up, Greyback,” a guard’s voice commanded. “You especially could use a bit of cleaning-up, you flee-bitten mutt.”

Fenrir growled at the young, spindly-legged wizard, who shied back and hastily stepped away from the door to let him pass. The smell of fear was heavy around him, and Fenrir grinned to himself, but he knew better than to cause the guard any trouble that would result in him being locked in again without a shower. Since he had had to give up his cub, he at least wanted to get clean again, unlike some of the other prisoners -- _filthy humans, living in their own waste_ \-- and so he obediently joined the line of prisoners, resisting the urge to slam the insolent guard head first into a wall, and meekly trotted to the showers with the others.

The white tiled room made him blink at the brightness, but he didn’t halt or hesitate and quickly stripped off his clothes, not in the least self-conscious and knowing his sheer size and muscle volume would keep him safe from any advances from those perverted wizards. By now they all knew better. He glanced at Dolohov, who had learned his lesson the hard way and who now made a point to look anywhere but at him. _Fucker._

He grabbed a halfway decent towel from a hook and slung it around his shoulders, then casually leaned against the wall, waiting for the others to finish undressing, when the door to the showers would be unlocked. He didn’t understand why they always took so long. Not like they had much clothes to begin with.

Fenrir’s head jerked up moments before there was a knock on the door. A slight commotion occurred as if the guards blocking the door weren’t sure what to do, but then they unlocked the door. Duren and another man entered, the mysterious prisoner who up until then had been held in solitary confinement.

Duren called for attention. “We’ve got a new one for you.” Jeering interrupted him, and an unpleasant smirk spread over his already unpleasant face. “I’m sure you’ll give him a special welcome. Please say hello to Harry Potter.”

Silence reigned, and the prisoner slowly lifted his head, looking at all of them yet seeming to see no one. He was heavily chained, and his hands were tied behind his back with a rope which also went around his torso.

“I thought you wanted me to shower,” the young man said. His voice was soft, but clear, and he shook off the guard’s hand.

With a sneer, Duren unchained the young man, but instead of with his wand, he did it by hand. His touches lingered in inappropriate places, all but groping Potter. Harry remained impassive, his face set in a stony mask, and even when the guard leaned down to whisper something undoubtedly disgusting and lecherous in his ear, he still didn’t react. Duren finally drew back, clearly disappointed, and pushed the black-haired man toward the benches.

“Undress; we don’t have all day.” Duren sneered and watched with lustful eyes as Harry shrugged out of the coverall that seemed several sizes too big for him, neatly folded it, reached for a towel and then secured it around his narrow waist.

Harry then joined the line of prisoners, somehow managing to take the place behind Fenrir, ignoring the respectful distance the other prisoners were keen to give the werewolf. Fenrir sniffed cautiously, a little surprised to detect no scent of fear. Was that boy suicidal?

One of the guards drew his wand, and the door next to Fenrir swung open, so that the prisoners could file into the shower room. The guard passed them a basket with bars of soap, letting each take a piece as they chose a shower head.

“That’s my shower, wonder boy,” Dolohov declared, and Fenrir turned in time to see him push the new prisoner aside. “Though I wouldn’t mind sharing.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and some of the other prisoners laughed with malicious glee, eager for a free show.

“No, thank you. But if I should ever feel the need to associate with the lowest scum, I’ll come back to your offer, yes?” The words were accompanied by the most charming and fakest smile Fenrir had ever seen, and though he knew someone with such an attitude wouldn’t survive for long, he was mildly impressed.

“No talking, Potter,” a guard called. “Or you get no food.”

“And that would be different from how much food I get now, how?” Harry asked curiously.

“What?” 

The grey-haired guard turned to Duren, who was quick to defend himself, “I offered him something just this morning, but he felt himself too good for it. This has been going on for days now.” 

Fenrir saw him shift uncomfortably, his hands clasping in front of his body protectively.

The older guard sighed. “What do you have to say for yourself, Potter?”

“I had an appetite for meat.” Harry shrugged indifferently. “I’ll take a shower now, if you don’t mind. I must’ve come in contact with something filthy.”

“You can shower with Dolohov,” Duren spoke up, raising his wand and cast a Jellylegs Jinx on Harry, making him lose his balance and stumble back against the Death Eater.

“Shawn, you know what the boss said, you don’t need another investigation,” one of the guards pointed out to Duren nervously.

“All the showers are taken!” Duren argued heatedly. “And I don’t feel like waiting around for him. Remember what he did, Oscar! He doesn’t warrant anyone’s protection.”

The two other guards exchanged looks before the grey-haired one sighed again. “Let’s wait outside, then. Better if we don’t see anything, it’s not our fault if something happens.”

They turned their back on the prisoners, though Duren and Dolohov exchanged looks, the one of disappointment and the other of excited expectation.

“Don’t forget to make up an alibi,” Harry called cheerfully after them. “Wouldn’t do for you to have no explanation for why you all just **had** to leave your charges alone.”

The door shut with a bang, and Harry twisted around in Dolohov’s hairy arms that held him trapped, and kneed him in the groin. The Death Eater dropped to his knees with a groan.

“I will not be raped,” Harry stated simply. “If you touch me again, you will start losing limbs.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dolohov grunted, painfully climbing to his feet. “You aren’t special in here, Golden Boy, just my fuck toy, and if you want it rough, you’ll have it rough, eh?”

“I just thought I’d warn you,” Harry replied softly, keeping a close eye on the older wizard, who approached him slowly. “Three more steps. Two. One...”

Dolohov lunged forward, and Harry took a step sidewards to avoid him, unintentionally getting close to Fenrir, who took the chance to lock Harry in a possessive embrace. The lithe body futilely struggled against his hold, but Fenrir barely noticed as he kept both eyes on the Death Eater.

“Greyback...?”

“He’s mine,” Fenrir stated, growling softly. “Any problem with that, Dolohov?” He stared him down, satisfied when the Death Eater averted his gaze; He also let his eyes sweep over the other prisoners for good measure. “Good, then that’s settled.” 

He tightened his arms around the young man, all but carried him over to his shower, and backed him against the wall, shielding Harry with his own body. Harry was trembling, but if Fenrir hadn’t smelled the fear on him - _Intoxicating!_ \- he would have had no other indication that the younger prisoner was scared to death.

“I’ll let go of you now,” Fenrir grumbled lowly. “Don’t try to escape. You’re safer with me.”

When Fenrir’s arms fell away from Harry, he shifted nervously so that the werewolf half expected him to bolt, but then he briefly closed his eyes, and as he opened them again, he was -- outwardly at least -- completely calm.

“What will you do with me?” Harry questioned coolly.

“I intend to take a shower.” Fenrir hit the shower button so that cold water cascaded over both of them. 

With a inaudible sigh Fenrir reached for his soap and started to wash himself, roughly rubbing the foam over his skin in an attempt to get rid off the frowst he could still smell on himself, before he became aware of Harry still staring at him.

“Wash yourself,” he ordered. “I’m not going to rape you.”

“I have no soap,” Harry stated. “I lost it.”

“Here,” Fenrir was seriously starting to question not only the boy’s sanity but also his own, as he handed his own soap over. Why had he got involved anyway? What did he care if the boy was raped? Just another wizard, right? As if there weren’t enough of them running around. If the young man didn’t have a sense of self-preservation, it wasn’t Fenrir's job to protect him.

“Thank you,” finally those green eyes left his, and the former Saviour of the Wizarding World began to scrub at his skin, lathering his body with soap. 

Fenrir couldn’t help but stare at the lithe beauty. There was no doubt why Dolohov had been so eager to get his hands on him. Harry was of average height, but he barely reached the middle of Fenrir’s chest, and he was so thin that he still looked delicate. His hair was pitch-black, soft and silky, his skin pale and smooth. Or at at least he thought so, but then Harry turned his back to him, and he could see scars littering the milky skin, criss-crossing over his back and shoulders. They looked like lash marks, like someone had repeatedly taken a whip to him, and the only reason why Fenrir hadn’t noticed them before was that they were also white and blended with the unmarred flesh. He growled angrily. How dare someone harm his cub! 

_His cub?!_

His golden eyes widened and his nostrils dilated. “Are you my cub?”

“I don’t like it when you call me that,” Harry gave back, smiling over his shoulder at him.

Fenrir took a step towards the younger prisoner, invading his personal space. “You are. Why...”

“Damnit, Greyback, what do you need him for if all your going to do is shower?” one of the prisoners, Mulciber, groused. “You could at least give us a show...”

Fenrir spun around in irritation, pinning the other man to the nearest wall with one swift movement. “I’ll do whatever the hell I please, Mulciber, and it would do you well to remember I’m no seventeen-year-old **boy**. Now take a fucking shower, and keep your eyes away from me because if I find you watching me or my new **friend** , I’ll carve your peepers out of your skull and use them to lure some rats to my cell, so I can finally get some meat on my menu, understood?”

Mulciber nodded hastily, and after pushing him hard against the wall once more for good measure, Fenrir released him and returned to Harry and his shower. He backed Harry in the corner once more then sniffed cautiously, the water impeding his sense of smell so that he had to lean closer, snuffling Harry’s neck. 

“You’re no werewolf,” he murmured, almost nuzzling the crook of Harry’s neck in an attempt to identify his smell. “You’re a damned wizard.”

“You got that right,” Harry whispered in return, pushing lightly against his chest. “Would you mind backing off?”

“They have to believe I’m making good use of you,” Fenrir gave back, pressing his body against Harry’s. “Or they’ll complain to the guards. Duren wouldn’t pass the chance to see you being raped, he’d give you to Dolohov or one of the others or use you for himself.”

“The hell they have to believe that,” Harry hissed at him. “I’ll be safer if they think I can take care of myself. And, **maybe** , if they think you like me. If you rape me, they’ll think I’m a whore, or that I'm easy to take down. Besides, I **can** look after myself,” the black-haired man stated. “Duren won’t touch me, and I can handle those perverts. Now back off!”

Fenrir laughed. “Well then, show me how you can take care of yourself. Otherwise we’ll do it my way.”

Harry’s knee jerked up, but Fenrir intercepted it easily, wrapping Harry’s slender leg around his waist and holding it in place there, his hand slowly wandering to Harry’s bottom, reducing the last bit of distance between them.

“You said you wouldn’t!” Harry squeaked, hammering his fists against the werewolf’s chest and trying to land a punch in his face as well. “Let me go! Let me go, you bastard!”

“That’s right, cub, scream, make it more believable,” Fenrir muttered absently, scratching with one fingernail over the soft skin between Harry’s buttocks until he felt droplets of blood run over his fingers, heavenly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” The green-eyed man said in a furious whisper. “If you don’t stop immediately, I’ll never come to your cell again. See if I care that you hurt yourself!”

Fenrir hesitated briefly. He didn’t want to lose his cub, but then again this opportunity was too tempting. Such a young, supple body, creamy skin, expressive wide eyes, and that smell! And he didn’t doubt Harry would be safer once the other prisoners realised he was taken. The wizards feared him, they wouldn’t touch what was his. And Harry undoubtedly was his.

“I’m doing this for you, cub,” he murmured and began to slowly rut against Harry, careful not to squish the slender prisoner too much and ignoring the half-angry, half-scared eyes glaring up at him. The scent of blood intermingled with that of fear and the harsh smell of soap. Together with the visuals and the friction he created between their bodies, it didn’t take long for Fenrir to find his release, and he came with a loud howl, releasing Harry’s leg. He protectively slumped over the delicate form of his pack mate, his cub, making sure all the other prisoners could see was his own broad back.

“Shh, now, my little cub, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I barely even touched you,” the werewolf whispered soothingly in Harry’s ear. “They’ll leave you alone now, you’re safe, cub.”

“Don’t call me that!” Harry hissed furiously, angry tears running down his face, and tried to claw at Fenrir’s face. “And get away from me.”

Fenrir caught Harry’s hand with a deep sigh, thumbing Harry’s tears away with his other hand before starting to wash away his cum from the wizard’s taut, flat stomach. “Come, cub, let’s get you cleaned up. It was necessary.”

“And I guess you didn’t enjoy it at all, did you?” Harry snarled sarcastically, batting his hands away to wash himself. “Don’t touch me.”

“Behave yourself, little one,” Fenrir admonished him not unkindly, handing Harry the soap. “Of course I enjoyed it, but I still want you to come to my cell.”

“Well, for that it’s too late now.” Harry sneered at him. “You had your fun, so...”

“It was necessary,” Fenrir repeated. “I saw what happened in here. But you’re my cub, and I don’t want to see you broken.”

“I’m not that easy to break,” Harry protested, glaring at him.

“And yet you’re bawling your eyes out,” Fenrir returned, wondering how he could make his little wolf understand. “Do you see that man on the opposite side of the room in the far left corner? The one with grey hair who doesn’t put weight on his right foot? His name is David Travers, he was one of Voldemort’s most loyal supporters, hell of a Severing Curse and ruthless to the core. I’ve never seen him defeated in a duel, with or without wands. But then when they threw him in here, Dolohov and Mulciber and a few others gang raped him in the showers, allegedly because he was a traitor. Duren stood by and did nothing as they broke his pelvic bone and his right leg in several places, caused internal bleeding and so much damage on his psyche I hear him whimpering in his cell all day and all night when he isn’t screaming from a nightmare. They raped him several times, but lost interest when he stopped fighting back. I won’t allow that to happen to you, under no circumstances, even if you hate me now.”

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the grey-haired man’s emaciated form, the hunched shoulders, and the long angry red scar which ran all the way from Travers’ hip to his ankle. 

“Why didn’t you help him?” he asked softly, tilting his head to look up at the werewolf. “You could have protected him.”

“And why would I do that?” Fenrir sneered. “He’s a wizard.”

“I’m a wizard, too.”

Fenrir glared at Harry. “You’re my cub!” His cub wasn’t a wizard! Wizards were like Dolohov or Duren or Travers. Disgusting, perverted, snivelling, pathetic creatures with no sense of decency or loyalty. His cub wasn’t a wizard. He wouldn’t allow it!

“I’m a wizard,” Harry insisted. “And I wouldn’t have let them rape me.”

“And how would you have prevented being raped, you stupid cub?” Fenrir growled in irritation. “You couldn’t fight me off.”

“You’re a werewolf,” Harry argued, and Fenrir’s face darkened in disappointment, _wizard_ , “I would’ve been able to fight them off.”

“Do you think you could’ve surprised Dolohov once more?” Fenrir’s fingernails dug into Harry’s skin as he grabbed his shoulders, shaking the slight man in an attempt to make him see reason and perhaps as a petty form of revenge. “Do you think he would’ve just stood there while you kneed him? How naive are you?!”

“Not naive enough not to see that you could’ve found another way to protect me,” Harry gave back, prying the werewolf’s hands from his shoulders.

“This is Azkaban,” Fenrir growled. “Respect and friendship isn’t enough in here. Even if you had managed to fight them off a dozen times, and if I could have protected you another dozen times, they would have got you on the twenty-fifth try. They won’t just stop because they have nothing better to do.”

“They don’t bother you,” Harry observed, looking past the werewolf at the other prisoners, who hardly dared to send them furtive glances.

“That’s because I threatened to turn them all into werewolves,” Fenrir explained with a bitter look at the smaller man, but nonetheless shifted to hide him again. “Besides, I’m neither particularly good-looking nor as skinny as you. I’m not as tempting a prey as you.” He grinned, splashing a bit of water in Harry’s face.

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed indignantly, shaking his head. “Fine, so you’ve got a point, you still could have told me of your oh-so-great plan beforehand.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t, and I won’t argue with you over this.” Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “You won’t touch me like that again.”

Fenrir glared right back at him, growling low in his throat. He was an Alpha, no one ordered him around! Least of all some stupid wizard who couldn’t even be bothered to be properly grateful for his protection. And to think he had thought Harry could be different. A worthy member of his pack. _He was a wizard after all._

“You bet I will if I feel like it!”

“You’re forgiven for now, but don’t think I won’t go through with my threat to never come to visit you again,” Harry replied evenly.

Fenrir felt his heart drop; _No!_

“I won’t spend my time with some pervert.”

Fenrir made to reach out once more to the pale youth, but thought better of it. He needed Harry, especially at the full moons, he couldn’t risk losing him. Even if Harry was just like all the other wizards, he was still company, and Fenrir could bear with his prejudices if that meant the end of his loneliness. And though sex would have been a bonus - one he intended to get eventually - he’d appreciate any kind of company.

“Good, then that’s settled,” Harry said mockingly, turning his back towards him to wash off the soap.

“Don’t...”

“Shower time is over,” one of the guard’s called, and Fenrir drew back reluctantly, trying to keep Harry behind him.

Harry did seem to trust him at least enough to stay close to him -- _or maybe he had at least **some** common sense._

Fenrir stiffened when they passed Duren, swiftly moving himself between the guard and his cub. Duren’s face fell, his lacivious eyes still glued to Harry’s form. Fenrir growled deep in his throat, but before he could do something he may later have regretted, his attention was drawn to Harry again. 

Dolohov seemingly had recovered from Fenrir’s earlier threat and had grabbed Harry’s ass and tried to pull Harry into his arms. Harry struggled, landing a few kicks and punches, but as much as Fenrir thought it would serve Harry right to find out exactly how well he could take care of himself, or not, he also knew that Duren was just waiting for a chance to satisfy his sick pleasures after all. 

Thus, Fenrir quickly grabbed the Death Eater’s wrist and broke it with a deliberate twist and careless pressure. “Don’t ever touch what is mine,” he growled. He pulled Harry to his side and wrapped a possessive arm around the thin waist. “Until I say I’ve tired of him, I don’t even want you **looking** at him. That fine piece of ass is mine, and mine alone. Is that clear?”

Dolohov was still whimpering in pain, but some of the other prisoners grunted in agreement or nodded. Satisfied, Fenrir turned back to an even-paler-than-usual Harry, then roughly wrapped both towels around his slender form. “Tonight, come to my cell,” the werewolf ordered in a whisper. “Do you understand? I won’t take no for an answer. And keep your head down.”

“‘kay, thanks,” Harry mumbled, pressing himself into the silver-haired werewolf’s side as they followed the others into the changing room, where Fenrir did his best to ward off any looks at his new charge.

Harry had barely slipped into his coverall when Duren grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the door where he chained him again, hands behind his back. “Alright, Potter, you had enough fun for today.”

Duren's hand once again lingered on Harry’s bottom, and Fenrir would have loved to chew it off, but just managed to control himself when Harry sent him a warning look. Harry was separated from the others and led back to his solitary cell in the very depths of Azkaban.

Fenrir felt some of the prisoners glancing surreptitiously at him and heard a whispered “How was it?” An angry growl shut them up.

He couldn’t wait until tonight.


	3. Food

He would come. Of course he would come, he had promised after all. _As if you could trust a wizard._ Fenrir groaned. Harry just had to come. Only a few hours had passed since he had protected Harry in the showers, but it had been enough time for his mind to bombard him with doubts if Harry would keep his word, if Fenrir would ever see his cub again. He had waited impatiently for the guards to make their usual evening round, checking on the prisoners, making sure that all the doors were locked and undamaged. But now everything was silent, Harry could come now. He would come soon, he would.

The soft scraping of claws over the stone floor made him perk up, and a grin spread over his bearded face when he saw the small white canine trot along the corridor towards his cell. _Yes!_

His smile froze, when instead of coming to him, Harry slipped through the bars of the cell opposite of his, totally ignoring his calls and beckonigs.

 _Of course, Harry would deem some pathetic wizard more important than him._ Fenrir tuned out the little voice in his head that tried to tell him compassion was hardly a bad trait. _Wizards were all the same! Why did his cub have to be a damned wizard?_ He sighed deeply, but focussed back on his little white wolf. He couldn’t just give up his pack member again, even if his wolf was a wizard. 

In the other cell, Harry yipped softly. He trotted to the shivering figure curled up on the cot, and nudged the prisoner gently.

“Please... no...” the man whimpered, and Harry nudged him again, then tugged on the tattered coverall hanging off Travers’ thin body. 

Fenrir growled. _What was the stupid cub doing?_ Harry’s place was with him and not with anybody else. He shifted closer to the door to have a good view of what was happening between the Death Eater and his cub and strained his ears so that no word that was spoken would escape his notice. Werewolf hearing did come in handy once in a while.

Finally, the older prisoner turned and stared wide-eyed at the white wolf, who carefully touched the man's sunken cheek with his cold, black nose.

“What?” Travers whispered brokenly. Instead of drawing back, he buried his hands deep in Harry’s thick snowy fur, clutching him. “Is this death?” 

Harry did his best to shake his head, soothingly licking over Travers' cheek and nose.

Fenrir growled. No one was to touch his cub!

“Are you a Patronus, then?” Travers asked hoarsely, and after hesitating briefly, Harry gave a small nod; after all, he was here to give Travers new hope and to protect him.

The Death Eater sighed in relief, sinking back on his cot and closing his eyes. “Maybe I’ll at least be able to sleep without nightmares with you here, though I’d prefer dying.”

Harry’s teeth lightly grazed the wizard's skin to admonish him, and the grey-haired man chuckled mirthlessly, patting the dingy mattress beside him. “You can’t blame me, can you? I doubt you’d be here if you didn’t understand,” he murmured almost to himself. “There were six, said I had betrayed our Lord, sold them out. I wouldn’t hesitate to sell them out now, and if our Lord ever gets us out of here, I’ll make sure to fight on the other side of those bastards.” His fingers absently carded through Harry’s fur, and Harry couldn’t help the happy rumbling in his chest.

Little bitch! Fenrir’s eyes turned yellow with anger and possessiveness. He understood how it was now. Harry wanted a protector in here and figured a muscular werewolf would do well enough, and so he had schemed and made Fenrir dependent on him because the werewolf **needed** company, how ever deplorable it might be. But he would show Harry his place; his protection came at a price. He smirked. If Harry wanted to take advantage of Fenrir's strength, Fenrir would take advantage of something else.

Travers was still patting the white cub, murmuring softly, “You’re a good listener, aren’t you? Or maybe you just enjoy being patted... But I don’t mind, it’s supposed to be good to talk about **traumatic** experiences, isn’t it?” Harry nuzzled his neck encouragingly and rolled around on his back so Travers would stroke his belly, which he did with a small laugh. 

“At least pretend to listen, okay? I never believed what they said about prison life, just thought they were exaggerating to keep the bad guys from being bad, but when I came in here... the Dementors, they weren’t the worst of it. The first three times I fought, I had to see a healer after each time, but then I just let it happen. I didn’t have the strength anymore, and it only seemed to make it worse.” His face twisted into a painful grimace, and he started to tremble; Harry snuggled closer to him, trying to show his support. “They’ve stopped now, several years back actually, but I still have nightmares and sometimes I feel them staring at me...” He sobbed. “Today, with that Potter boy, Merlin help me, but I was glad it was him and not me.”

Harry growled softly. Then he realised Travers was much too scared to be responsible for what he had done or rather not done, so he merely swiped his wet tongue over Travers’ face, licking away the tears.

The Death Eater weakly pushed Harry away. The wolf drew back and watched him curiously as he pulled the thin blanket over himself. “Good night, little Patronus. Thanks for listening, or at least letting me pet you.”

Harry nudged him one last time before padding back over to the cell door -- _Finally,_ Fenrir thought. -- but a soft voice stopped the cub again, “Please stay until I’ve fallen asleep.”

A smile spread over Harry’s wolf face, and he returned to Travers’ side, lying down next to him, close enough to feel the man's irregular breathing which only evened out after a long time.

Harry slowly got up, careful not to wake the sleeping man, and slipped out of the cell.

“Cub, come here, now!” Fenrir ordered from his cell, but Harry ignored him once again, and fled down the corridor to a dark corner.

Fenrir growled in irritation, masking the relief he felt when Harry returned, carrying his coveralls in his mouth, and finally slipped into Fenrir's own cell. The wolf hesitated briefly before he changed back into Harry and dressed before turning around.

To Fenrir’s surprise, Harry immediately moved closer and embraced him. “Thank you for helping me in the showers.”

Fenrir grunted, but stopped Harry from leaving his arms again, instead grabbing him harshly around the waist. “Finished with your snuggling? You reek of wizard, Potter.”

“I **am** a wizard.” Harry scowled and tried to draw back. “What is your problem? You wanted me here, but I’ll leave...”

Fenrir sneered, tightening his hold. “My problem is that you're a spoilt little brat who thinks he’s something better, just because you could produce sparks **if** you had a wand.” 

“You’re the only one who thinks he’s something better,” Harry hissed. “I thanked you, didn’t I? I admit I was foolish in the showers, and it could have ended much worse if you hadn’t helped me. But what you did shocked me, and it wasn’t a very nice way of protecting me. You’ve acted like an arrogant jerk...”

“Of course I’m arrogant! You deserve no better, leading me on and making me believe you were a wolf, that you enjoyed spending time with me. But you are just like all the other wizards, after all. But guess what? I won’t be your pet werewolf, you’ll be mine!” Fenrir tugged Harry even closer, lowering his mouth to Harry’s neck and allowing his wolf to take over, his incisors sharpening and lengthening into fangs.

“Don’t,” Harry whispered softly, but didn’t try to draw back, instead nuzzling his nose against Fenrir’s cheek and neck, like he would have done in his wolf form. “If you bite me, you will be alone again.”

“How wrong you are,” Fenrir mocked, licking over the soft white skin. Nibbling, but without yet breaking the skin. “You’ll be my little bitch.”

“The guards will find out. They won’t leave me here for the full moon. Or do you honestly think they would do anything to make either of us feel better?” Harry argued. “I’ll be locked somewhere else.”

“They won’t find out,” the werewolf returned, unmoved. “I’ll call you on the full moon, and you won’t be able to disobey. You’ll come to me like an obedient little puppy.”

“And I’ll bite every prisoner in here, won’t I?” Harry stated. “I’m small enough to get into every cell, and I won’t be able to control myself. The guards will call for reinforcement, and the Ministry will send Aurors with silver weapons to terminate us all. Great plan, really.” 

Fenrir growled testily, but drew back, forcing his wolf back down. “Fine, I won’t bite you.”

“Good,” Harry smiled at him. “You had me worried there for a moment.”

“Sure didn’t show it,” Fenrir grumbled, wondering what Harry was playing at now.

Harry laughed. “If you were faced with an aggressive dog, you wouldn’t run away either, would you? Would provoke it even more.”

“I’m not a dog!” Fenrir snapped, baring his teeth.

“I didn’t say you were,” Harry tried to appease him. “It was an analogy. It wasn’t meant as an insult. You would have bitten me if I'd struggled, right?”

“Maybe,” Fenrir admitted grudgingly.

“Okay, how about we start anew?” Harry offered. “And you’re kind of hurting me, so if you could stop digging your hands into my hips?”

Fenrir released him reluctantly, immediately regretting it when Harry changed back into his wolf form and left the cell.

“Hey! Stupid cur, what are you doing? I thought we had a deal? That’s what I get for trusting a wizard,” the werewolf barked. When Harry, barely out of the cell, spun around and came back to him, he fell silent.

The white wolf skipped around him, until Fenrir crouched and caught him gently. Once he had Harry as his cub again, he relaxed. “Don’t do that ever again,” he ordered, but couldn’t help a grin when Harry licked his cheek and chin. “I thought you were leaving again.”

He began to pat the small white wolf, rubbing him behind the ears and drawing a happy purr-like growl from the canine. Harry nudged his head against Fenrir's hand, pressing closer to him in an attempt to get more of Fenrir’s touch.

“Why can’t you always be like this?” Fenrir murmured, then sighed when Harry’s green eyes looked up at him. “Change back. We have to talk.”

Harry drew back, then transformed and slipped into his coveralls again before looking up at Fenrir. “I’m different because you’re different. You don’t like me as a wizard.”

Fenrir merely grunted, sighing inaudibly, and then gruffly held out a piece of slightly mouldy bread. “Here, eat.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What is that?”

“Food, obviously. You said Duren didn’t give you anything, and I don’t want you to starve to death,” Fenrir replied, impatiently pressing the bread into Harry’s hand. “It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”

Harry’s lips split into a half-grin, half-smile, but to Fenrir’s surprise he handed the piece of bread back to the werewolf. “I’m not hungry, and I thought you wanted to talk. About what?”

“About what?” Fenrir echoed incredulously. “Well, for example, how you can turn into a wolf, how you can leave your cell, why the hell you aren’t hungry after being starved? Just things like that.”

Harry cocked his head. “You still haven’t figured it out? Let’s see, I can change at will, I have no problem with silver and you didn’t tear me to shreds...

“You’re an Animagus,” Fenrir interrupted him, absently toying with the bread.

“100 points, Sherlock.” Harry clapped his hands, and Fenrir growled.

Fenrir’s eyes yellowed in anger. “Don’t get cheeky with me, cub. I can snap your neck if I want to.” 

“But then you’d have to figure the answers to the other questions all of your own,” Harry reminded with a teasing smile. 

“And the answers would be? How did you get here?” Fenrir demanded to know, once again taking a hold, but this time a much more gentler one, of Harry’s hips. “Are the guards stupid enough to have the bars of your cell so far apart that you can slip through.”

The black-haired wizard glanced down at his large hands, but didn’t comment. “No, my cell has a heavy iron door. I get out the same way I would have protected myself against Dolohov: I can still do magic.” 

Afterwards, Fenrir thought he must have stared and gaped at Harry quite stupidly, and his voice was strangely croaky, “Show me! Show me.”

Harry jerked his arm up, sending sparks to the ceiling, sparks which remained and shimmered down on them like stars. “Nothing too powerful, but to open my cell door and fight off perverts, it’s more than enough.”

“Not enough to fight off me,” Fenrir observed, rubbing over Harry’s hipbones. “And still you came. Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” Harry said simply. “I’m not helpless, not even against a big bad wolf.”

“Could have fooled me,” Fenrir gave back. “I could smell the fear on you. Suits you, very enticing.”

He lowered his nose to Harry’s neck, taking a deep sniff. _Fear_. A tremor went through the slender body. _Beautiful_. Suddenly he was pushed back with such great force a normal man would have been thrown into the wall, unconscious, but he only stumbled a few steps back.

Fenrir chuckled deeply, straightening up from the delicious scent of Harry's skin. “You’re right, not quite so helpless, but you don’t have to be afraid, my cub. I was merely getting acquainted.”

“I don’t even know your name, so there’s no way we’re getting ‘acquainted’,” Harry snapped, rubbing his hands over his hips where Fenrir’s grip had left bruises. “I refuse to use my body to pay for your protection, which I didn’t ask for, by the way. If you’re horny, find another way to sate your sex drive.”

Fenrir growled angrily. Typically human to assume werewolves were brute beasts driven by baser instincts. The voice inside, which pointed out how he had all but molested Harry in the showers and also threatened to make the young man his whore, was promptly ignored. It wasn’t his fault Harry was deliberately misinterpreting the facts. If Harry wasn’t so prejudiced, he wouldn’t be so skittish and assume only the worst of Fenrir. 

It was Harry’s own fault.

“I said I wouldn’t rape you, and I won’t!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course you won’t; I won’t let you. But I don’t like to be fondled either. And I still don’t know your name, so I think we should start getting acquainted **that** way.”

“Fenrir Greyback,” the werewolf grumbled, watching Harry for any sign of recognition, but found none.

Was he already forgotten in the world outside? Dismissed as unimportant, negligible, harmless? He shook himself. No, it couldn't be. Harry was just very ignorant. Wizards still feared him. They better had.

“My turn. Why did they throw you in here?” Fenrir demanded. Most likely, Harry’s crime had been something like calling the Minister a blubbering, incompetent fool, since he seemed to mouth off to everyone, including Fenrir himself - _Cheeky, little bugger._

“Murder.” 

Okay, he hadn’t expected that; Harry didn’t look like he could harm a fly, much less kill it. “Who did you kill?”

“No-one.”

“Ah, so you are one of the **innocent** ,” Fenrir taunted. “Too ashamed to admit to what you did, are you?”

“If you say so.” Harry shrugged. “It’s not like it makes a difference now, does it? We’re all here for the rest of our miserable lives, and if they can make our lives a bit more miserable, all the better.”

“I thought you were their Saviour. At least, Voldemort was afraid of you.” 

“How flattering. Obviously I became a menace just as bad as Voldemort, and they thought it prudent to lock away at least one of us. I’m the lucky winner.” Harry smiled humourlessly. “What about you?”

“I’m a werewolf. Isn’t that enough of a reason to throw me in here?” Fenrir retorted cynically. “I couldn’t expect a fair trial, so my assigned counsel forewent a trial altogether. Less paper work, I suspect.”

Harry nodded as if he understood, and for a moment, Fenrir almost believed he did. Then he realised how stupid that was, and before Harry could demand a real answer, he cut in with the one question he had been meaning to ask since the very beginning. The only question which really mattered to him.

“Why did you come to me here during the full moon?” 

“I wanted to,” Harry replied, elaborating when Fenrir growled, “I became an Animagus for the benefit of another werewolf, but I never got the chance to spend the full moon with him. I was arrested before I could. Then, when I came here, I heard your howls, and you sounded hurt and lonely. I thought my company would help you.”

“Why did you leave?” Fenrir asked, quenching the inexplicable urge to pull the slender youth close. 

“I had to get back to my cell before the guards came to check on me, and I didn’t think you would want me to stay.” Fenrir snorted, throwing the other man an incredulous look.

“What did you think I wanted to gain by trying to keep a hold of you?”

“I meant in my human form,” Harry corrected. “Death Eaters normally aren’t too fond of ex-Golden Boys, and you just now proved me right.”

“I’m no Death Eater. I was an ally of Voldemort, but I never felt the need to let him brand his mark into my skin.”

“Huge difference,” Harry retorted sarcastically. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter to me who you support. You still don’t like me when I’m not in my wolf form.”

Fenrir snorted. “You wizards are all the same. Of course, you’d blame this on me, wouldn’t you? The stupid, simple-minded werewolf who hates the understanding and helpful wizard who’s just trying to help. I’m not here because of anything I’ve done, but because of who I am. To you, to them, I’m a monster! And they punish me in hopes of squeezing the werewolf out of me, but guess what? I’m past redemption, past retribution, past reforming. I’ll die here, and I’ll die the same monster I am now. Bad luck for you, Potter!”

Harry poked him in the chest, glaring at him. “Firstly, I’m not the one who put you in here, and while I know the Ministry and the Wizarding world’s view on werewolves are less than favourable, I would really prefer it if you didn’t tell me what I’m to think, according to you. I came to you, not because I hoped to gain a protector, but because you were hurting yourself and because I enjoy your company when you're not acting like a... like a bulldog!”

“A bulldog?” Fenrir asked incredulously. “Your comparing me to a bulldog?”

“Yes, a bulldog. I don’t like bulldogs, but that’s not the point,” Harry stated. “The point is, I wanted to help you because you were lonely and hurting, and you’re throwing it in my face.”

“You are a very strange boy, Potter.” Fenrir’s lips quirked in amusement. He grasped Harry’s hand and pressed it to his chest. “I’ve never seen a convicted murderer who cared about a werewolf’s loneliness.”

“No?” Amusement flashed in the bright green eyes. “I guess I’m unique then... So, does this mean you’ll keep your hands off me so I'll visit on the next full moon?”

“I’ll refrain from touching you if you promise to come here every night,” Fenrir stated, scooping Harry up before he could protest and depositing him on his make-shift bed. “You’ll stay the night and sleep here.”

Harry scowled at him. “I don’t like to be ordered around or manhandled.”

“Too bad for you, cub.” Fenrir grinned wolfishly. He kneeled next to Harry and put one heavy hand on Harry's shoulder to keep him in place. “You’re my pack now, and therefore I get to order you around and manhandle you all I want.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, spitting green fire, and a second wave of magic hit Fenrir in the chest. This time he was prepared for it, and instead of losing his balance, he pulled Harry into a possessive embrace, wrapping his arms, legs and whole body around the thin wizard. Harry fought against his hold, but the werewolf had no problem containing him, and gradually the struggles died down. However, Fenrir knew better than to release Harry just yet.

“Now, my little cub, you can eat the bread if you want, before we go to sleep,” he murmured mockingly. “There’ll be no escaping tonight.”

“I won’t eat your stupid moldy bread,” Harry returned. “If I wanted to eat, I'd eat something I like and not rotten food that'll make me sick.”

“Well, sorry, princess, but it’s either this or nothing, and I won’t have you die of starvation,” Fenrir replied sarcastically.

“I’m not about to starve,” Harry protested. “And I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in days. Duren admitted as much,” Fenrir argued. “And even if you’d been fed regularly, the portions here aren’t nearly large enough to sustain your health.”

“Just because Duren didn’t allow me food, doesn’t mean I didn’t eat,” Harry stated. He shifted in Fenrir's arms and sighed in relief when Fenrir’s hold relented at least marginally. “By the way, you look healthy enough to me, and I’m sure you eat more than I do.”

“I catch rats and doves from time to time, to supplement my diet,” Fenrir grumbled uncomfortably. “But they’ve learned to avoid my cell.”

Harry twisted around, peering up at him with curious green eyes. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” the werewolf replied bitterly. “But at least I don’t look like an -- admittedly rather attractive -- stick on two legs.”

“I was always thin. My relatives... didn’t like me eating their food,” Harry murmured, closing his eyes briefly as if in pain. “I don’t feel hunger, but if you let me sit up, I can get you something to eat.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Fenrir asked skeptically but allowed Harry to sit up, settling the younger man between his own muscular legs, with one arm wrapped around the thin waist assuring that Harry would stay in place.

“Dobby?” Harry called softly. “Dobby?”

A soft pop dispelled the expectant silence, and a weird-looking creature with long-fingered hands, large feet, big yellow eyes and floppy ears appeared before them, wearing a mismatched assortment of clothes. 

To Fenrir, the creature looked very much like his next meal and only vaguely like a house-elf. He growled hungrily.

“Master Harry Potter, sir,” the house-elf squeaked in greeting, performing a deep bow before bouncing up and down on its toes. “Master Harry Potter has called and Dobby comes. What can Dobby be doing for Master Harry Potter, sir? Dobby is so happy Master Harry Potter remembered him. Dobby was very, very worried about Master Harry Potter. Stupid wizards throw kind Master Harry Potter in here because they are stupid and don’t understand. But Dobby will always come if Master Harry Potter calls, sir, oh, yes, he will.”

“Thank you, Dobby.” Harry smiled at him. “You’re a true friend.” Dobby beamed. “Would it be too much trouble...”

“Oh, no, Dobby will gladly do everything for Master Harry Potter, sir. No trouble at all, and if it **is** trouble, Dobby will do it even gladlier.” The house-elf nodded vigorously, his pointy ears flapping wildly. “What can Dobby do for Master Harry Potter, sir?”

“I was wondering if you could bring Fenrir here some food without anyone noticing?” Harry asked softly, while giving the tiny creature a pleading look.

“Dobby will bring food for you immediately, sirs, and no-one will know. Wizards don’t want to notice house-elves, but Master Harry Potter is different. Master Harry Potter is the greatest wizard alive.” Dobby bowed and popped away again.

“He’s a bit exuberant,” Harry murmured apologetically before yawning. “But he’s a good friend.”

“You’re full of surprises, cub.” Fenrir chuckled. “Werewolves, Death Eaters, house-elves, you really have no standards, do you?”

“Not this again!” Harry scowled at him. “Dobby is great, and Death Eaters are merely Dark wizards who support Voldemort, and the werewolves I’ve met so far were neither better nor worse than ordinary wizards.”

“And how many werewolves have you met so far?” Fenrir asked.

“Including yourself, two, but even if you turn out to be an utter bastard, I won’t start mistrusting werewolves in general,” Harry returned. 

Fenrir howled with laughter. “I see you’ve got experience in that matter,” he taunted. “You obviously are an expert on werewolves.”

“Would you stop that?” Harry shook his head in annoyance. “It’s not my fault you have a low self-esteem and like for people to think the worst of you.”

Just then Dobby reappeared, and after a quick bow, snapped his fingers. A red and white chequered picnic blanket spread over the stone floor. With another snap of Dobby's fingers, plates, baskets and boxes with food appeared on the blanket until it was totally covered with things to eat and drink.

Fenrir's mouth watered, and he pounced on a juicy pork hock, tearing a large piece from the bone and barely chewing before he swallowed. With gravy dripping down his chin, he took another bite and simultaneously reached for a medium-rare steak, gobbling both down in seconds. He had almost completely forgotten about Harry and the house-elf while his inner wolf howled in pleasure.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said softly, carefully rising from the straw mat and going to the house-elf. “Did you have any problems?”

“No, not at all, Master Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby sounded disappointed. “Hogwarts house-elves were very, very happy to cook for Master Harry Potter and help him in any way they can. Dobby can get Master Harry Potter out of here, Master Harry Potter, sir. If Master Harry Potter would only let him...”

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry interrupted him gently. “But the food is more than enough.”

“Master Harry Potter should eat something as well,” Dobby tugged on Harry’s hand, conjuring a plate of finger sandwiches and thrusting it under Harry’s nose. “Dobby knows how much Master Harry Potter likes cream cheese and tomato sandwiches. Dobby made these himself.”

“Thank you, Dobby. If you made them, of course I must try them.” Harry smiled. “Can you come back later to take the plates and such away?”

“Of course, Master Harry Potter, sir.” Dobby bowed again. “Master Harry Potter must not hesitate to call Dobby when he wants something, anything.”

“I will, Dobby, thank you.” Harry smiled at him, shaking Dobby’s hand, bringing tears to the house-elf’s eyes before he popped away.

Fenrir was still eating, though he had slowed down, and now looked up at Harry. “Come here, cub, you need to eat something as well.”

Harry hesitated briefly, but then sank down next to the werewolf. Fenrir drew him closer and tried to hand him a plate with steak and noodles, but Harry raised his hands, drawing back.

“What is it now?” Fenrir asked.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Harry answered, and Fenrir sent him a confused look. “I don’t eat meat.” 

“Why the hell not? You got a death wish or something?” Fenrir demanded.

“I don’t want any creature to die just so I can eat it,” Harry returned. “You don’t have to understand.”

“I don’t,” Fenrir agreed, but withdrew the plate and started to eat it himself. “Eat something else then.”

Harry sighed, but started slowly nibbling the sandwiches Dobby had made for him. By the time Fenrir had consumed all the meat and more than half of the rest of the food, Harry had finished about a quarter of the sandwiches and was sure he could not eat one bite more. They sat in silence for a while, Fenrir absently licking his fingers clean while staring pensively at Harry.

“What?” the black-haired man asked, unnerved. “Don’t look at me as if you want to eat me next.”

“What a good idea!” Fenrir grinned, causing Harry to roll his eyes. “But first I want you to explain something. In the showers, you said you had an appetite for meat when that guard asked why you didn’t accept Duren’s food. What did you mean?” 

“Duren didn’t offer me food. I bit him,” Harry returned, then sighed when Fenrir raised an eyebrow in question. “He thought he could take advantage of me, and wanted me to suck him off, so I bit down instead.”

Fenrir couldn’t help but grin, barking out with laughter at Harry’s matter-of-fact-tone, as if this was the only reasonable reaction to such audacity. “Good cub.”

“He didn’t take it too well,” Harry stated neutrally. “But I’m pretty sure he won’t try something like that again.”

“Did he hurt you?” Fenrir growled, mentally picturing what he would like to do to the little shit if Duren had harmed his cub.

“It doesn’t matter.” There was firmness in Harry’s voice, but something else as well, something deeper and darker: a bitter understanding stemming from deep-rooted desperation.

“To me it does, cub.” Fenrir sighed, gathering the green-eyed wizard closer. “I think you’ve been hurt so often and so deeply you don’t even see the injustice anymore, and you believe them when they say it’s your fault.”

“You should have been a philosopher, not a Death Eater,” Harry said with a chuckle. “You’re wasting your talents -- and on me, no less.” 

“What, did you think I was a brainless brute? Humans are easy to read, even if it’s sometimes hard to understand them,” Fenrir stated contemptuously.

“Aren’t you human?”

“Frankly, I don’t see the appeal,” Fenrir grunted, and Harry inclined his head in silent agreement. “Though I do find a certain little human very appealing.”

“Fenrir...” Harry groaned in exasperation. “First, that was very lame, and second, we had this conversation already. Third, I’m glad you're finally over me being a wizard.”

The werewolf snorted. “I still don’t like them, but you’re okay.”

“Why, thank you. How very flattering,” Harry teased good-naturedly before he got up and packed fruits, bread, cheese and pieces of cake into a basket which had been filled with freshly baked rolls. 

Fenrir watched intently, then grasped Harry's wrist when he reached for the apples. “What are you doing, cub?”

“Travers will also be hungry,” Harry stated, tugging on his arm to free it. “And don’t call me cub; I've said not to often enough.”

“I don’t see why you're so averse to it,” Fenrir grumbled. “You **are** my cub. It means that I care, and that you’re part of my pack.”

“I’m not your cub. I’m Remus’ cub,” Harry retorted. “You can’t possibly hope to replace him.”

As Fenrir shot up from the floor to tower over Harry, his ferocious growl resounded in the small cell. “Remus Lupin! That loser is your Alpha?! You can pine for Lupin all you want, cub, but he isn’t here - **I am**. Chances are you’ll never see him again, but when I’m through with you, you will crave **my** touch and **my** kisses, not his.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry demanded. “Remus isn’t my lover. He never was nor will he be. He’s my honorary godfather, my uncle, and I love him, but... not like that.”

“Is that so?” Fenrir smirked in a predatory way, drawing Harry to his chest, petting the sable hair as his wolf retreated and he calmed. “Interesting. So, you think ‘cub’ is merely the term for a werewolf child? Very well, we’ll leave it at that. I won’t call you ‘cub’ anymore.”

"Good. Only Remus calls me 'cub,' and he doesn’t have any non-fatherly feelings for me,” Harry continued, his voice muffled with his face pressed against Fenrir's chest. 

“He better not, the puny weakling,” Fenrir snarled. “He’s not fit to be an Alpha, which he knows damn well. You're mine now, my little wolf, and I can assure you I don’t see you as my child.” 

Harry stiffened, trying to pull away, but Fenrir rested his large hand on Harry’s neck, massaging his wiry muscles, yet holding him securely in place. Despite the attempt at a lighter touch, Harry winced when he tried to draw away. “You’re hurting me, and you promised not to,” he whispered, and was relieved when Fenrir’s movements gentled considerably. “You said you didn’t want to see me broken.”

“I’ll protect you,” Fenrir growled.

“Even from yourself?” Harry asked softly. He managed, with a push of magic, to free himself from Fenrir’s hold and took a step away from the werewolf. “I think you should make up your mind about this first.”

With that, Harry reached for the food basket and shrunk it so it would fit through the bars. Then he transformed into his wolf form, and before Fenrir could stop him, he had slipped back out of his cell and into the one opposite.

“Harry, damnit, come back!” Fenrir hissed.

But Harry ignored him, soon disappearing in the shadows, leaving Fenrir to stare at the battlefield of food and to curse under his breath.


	4. Human Contact

After three and a half months, it had become a routine for Harry to come to Fenrir's cell at night. After sitting with Travers until the Death Eater fell asleep, he'd change into his human form, slip into his clothes - granting Fenrir a tantalising view of pale, smooth flesh - then spend time with Fenrir until the werewolf inevitably did something to annoy Harry, at which point, Harry would leave in a huff and not return for at least one night.

But however angry Harry was, he would return eventually, and never was there a full moon when Harry had left him alone. Fenrir was ultimately grateful for that, and it had eventually given him the strength not to cling to Harry so tightly. He was still very possessive of his little wolf and made sure no other prisoners came close to him. But in the beginning, Fenrir had been almost desperate to keep Harry with him, going so far as to try to force his will by locking Harry in his arms. The only result was in Harry ignoring him or insulting him so relentlessly, Fenrir had given in sooner or later and let Harry go. Even if he had relaxed on the subject, some arguments were inevitable, just as their most recent one had been.

Tonight, the silence between the werewolf and Harry was strained. Fenrir sat on one side of his cell near the door, and Harry was in the opposite corner with his knees drawn up to his chest like a protective wall, daring Fenrir with his looks - glares, really - to come closer. Fenrir inhaled deeply, shifting and flexing his muscles.

“Stop sniffing around,” Harry snapped.

“Despite popular belief, werewolves do have to breathe from time to time,” Fenrir replied. “What's your problem, anyway?”

“You’re my problem. You’re blocking the door.”

“So you want to leave again, huh? Just because--” 

“Just because you tried to molest me again, yes!” Harry glared. “When will you get it into your thick skull, I’m not interested!?”

“Keep fooling yourself, Harry. You kissed me back,” the werewolf stated. “And you were flirting with me.”

“Well, good thing **you** noticed, 'cause I certainly didn’t,” Harry answered sarcastically. “All I said--”

“Was that you liked my eyes,” Fenrir completed for Harry, and once again felt the warmth rise in his chest as he remembered Harry’s soft voice, his pale hand against Fenrir's cheek and the welcoming scent surrounding them.

“Yes, because they remind me of Remus’,” Harry intoned. “But instead of letting me finish, you just had to -- What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

When Fenrir heard this silly lie, for there was no way Harry could be thinking of someone else while he was with Fenrir, something snapped inside with a painful twinge, and he shot up then over to Harry, where he pulled the younger man up against his own body.

“You like me,” Fenrir growled, shaking Harry’s slender form. “You just don’t want to admit you care for a werewolf. And as long as you're convinced I’m the only one **emotionally** involved, you feel safe. You can tell yourself I’m your little charity case and that you have everything under control, that you don’t need me like I need you. But you do, and it scares you, and so you get aggressive, push me away and flee.”

“How very astute of you,” Harry mocked him. “But in your brilliant analysis, you completely disregarded the fact that you’re constantly accosting me. Maybe, just maybe, **that** is the reason for my aggressiveness.”

“You’re scared,” Fenrir insisted. “Not that I blame you, of course. I’m scary.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but Fenrir’s declaration had served to lighten the mood, and the werewolf grinned in triumph while pensively rubbing Harry’s arms with his large hands. “But I don’t want you to be scared, my little wolf. You don’t have to be scared,” Fenrir murmured.

He leaned closer to kiss the other prisoner, but made sure to give Harry enough time to draw back, which he did. Fenrir growled, and Harry grinned.

“Good night, Fenrir,” Harry said cheekily, pecking Fenrir’s cheek as he passed him. “Sweet dreams.”

“You can’t leave now.” Fenrir was horrified to hear the whine in his voice - Goddess, he was acting like a love-struck girl! He was an Alpha, he couldn’t act like this! How would Harry learn to respect him when Fenrir had so little respect for himself?

He straightened up, squared his shoulders and gave Harry a sharp nod. “Good night, Harry.”

Harry blinked in surprise before a gentle smile spread over his face, his eyes sparkling happily. Fenrir felt his chest swell with pride. Harry did like him. There was no denying it after that look. He just needed more time, a bit more persuasion, and then Harry would be his.

With two swift steps he was standing in front of Harry again, carefully tugging him into his arms and pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’ll miss you, my little wolf. Make sure to come back tomorrow.”

“Only if you promise not to annoy me,” Harry replied, unconsciously leaning into Fenrir’s embrace, seeking the warmth his large body provided.

Fenrir smirked. “But you’re so cute when you’re angry, I can never resist the temptation. So much fire in someone so small. I have to see it again and again to believe it.”

“I’m not small,” Harry protested with a glare, making Fenrir’s smirk widen. “Not everyone wants to look like an experiment for anabolic steroids.”

Fenrir chuckled, willing himself to not take offense. “Indeed. But you certainly do.”

“I do not,” Harry argued heatedly. “Having to look at you is more than enough.”

“So you do look at me, hm? And what reason might you have for doing so?” Fenrir grinned triumphantly. “Maybe you like looking at me. I’ve got you now, Harry.”

“You have a screw loose, that’s what you have,” Harry retorted, rolling his eyes again. “I’m going now. Feel free to groom yourself or do some sit-ups or whatever it is you do to maintain that oh-so-great figure of yours.”

Harry tugged free of his hold, but Fenrir stopped him before he could transform into the wolf. “Harry? Before you go...” He slung one arm around Harry’s waist to pull him closer and buried the fingers of his other hand in Harry's soft black hair.

“Fen-" The werewolf’s lips crushed Harry’s, cutting off his protests, and the strong hand at the back of his head kept him in place.

Harry struggled for a few seconds, futilely pushing against Fenrir’s chest, but soon his hands stilled, resting lightly over the werewolf’s heart. Harry resigned himself to the kiss, telling himself he really didn’t have a choice, Fenrir was much too strong, and it would be best to just wait it out. Not that he enjoyed Fenrir licking over his lips, trying to coax them to open, of course. And he didn’t care, either, for the stubble of beard that tickled his sensitive skin, or the rough lips massaging his own. And it really wasn’t his fault that, when Fenrir moved his hand from his waist to the small of his back and further down to his bottom, giving it an audacious pinch, he gasped, or that Fenrir seized the opportunity to skip his tongue into Harry’s mouth. But if he could have stopped Fenrir, he would have done so at once. Of course he would have. A soft sigh escaped him, and he could feel the amused rumble in Fenrir’s massive chest.

Fenrir grinned, releasing Harry. “There now, you silly, little thing, I thought you didn’t like me?” 

Harry huffed and turned into his Animagus form, but not fast enough to hide his blush. Fenrir watched after Harry with a grin as the young wolf ran down the corridor and soon disappeared in the darkness. For once, he wasn’t feeling desolate because Harry had left him alone and refused to stay the night. Harry might be angry with him now, but that was secondary as long as he could still taste the responsive lips on his own and hear the soft sigh in his ears. 

Harry liked him!

*_*_*

Though too soft for any human ear to catch, the low murmur of agitated voices in the distance woke Fenrir before sunrise. He blinked and turned to his side, noticing absently how cold his cell was now. Summer was definitely over, and autumn was fast turning into winter. If only Harry was with him to warm his bed. But he still hadn’t managed to convince Harry to stay the night, though he was making progress.

He focused on the voices again, recognising one as Duren’s (Fenrir was getting really annoyed with the guard for not only leering at Harry every chance he got, but now also disturbing his sleep), but the other, though vaguely familiar, didn’t ring any bells. What Fenrir heard, however, made his hackles rise. He growled angrily. 

They were talking about Harry. His Harry.

Two men passed his cell, Duren, and a squat man wearing a lime-green bowler. Their lips moved, but since they had performed a Silencing Charm when they had come closer to the cells, Fenrir couldn’t hear anything. 

Their secrecy only increased his worry. What could they want with his Harry? They better not hurt him. He paced in his cell, almost running into the walls a few times, until the two men came back. The dissatisfied expression on the bowler-headed man's face, combined with Duren's eagerness, did nothing to appease him.

*_*_*

The next day was Letter Day, when the prisoners were allowed to receive mail. Fenrir held one single letter in his hands and stared at it blankly. All his other senses focused on Harry. 

The black-haired man sat two tables away from him with a stack of letters and two visitors. Prisoners didn’t get visitors, but seemingly Harry was an exception, though he didn’t look terribly thrilled. Fenrir couldn’t blame him. The red-head visitor smelled strongly of sweat and stared at Harry with disgust, while the brown-haired witch talked almost non-stop in a high-pitched, insistent voice.

“... if you would only put aside your stupid pride, Harry,” she was saying, while Harry indifferently sifted through his letters. “You could get out of here, get a new wand, and you could go back to Hogwarts. I can understand if you're afraid to face You-Know-Who, but...”

“I’m not.” Harry shook his head lightly, briefly throwing her off balance.

“Well, that’s good, Harry, and even more of a reason to accept their offer. You wouldn’t be alone, either. You would be working with a special task force, Aurors and of course Dumbledore. They will train you. After all, you always said you needed to be better prepared.”

“I believe that is what **you** always said, Hermione,” Harry returned, still in a monotone, and opened the first letter, briefly glanced at it, then put it aside and reached for the next. “I don’t think I want to learn how to kill.”

“You already know how to do that, don’t you?” the red-haired boy spat out, glaring at Harry and making Fenrir growl lowly.

“If you say so, Ron.” Harry shrugged, opening a Howler. The message shouted very colourful curses, but Harry didn’t bat an eye, just waited until it was finished and reached for the next letter.

“Harry, if you're afraid people won’t trust you, that’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. They will give you a chance to prove yourself, and they will eventually forget about what you did,” the witch started again. “We can arrange for an interview so you can tell them how you were treated by your relatives. They will understand why you lost control and...”

Another Howler interrupted her.

“I’m sure you feel guilty as well, and this would be a chance for you to redeem yourself,” she continued when the Howler was finally done. 

For the first time, Harry looked up at her, like one would look at an interesting, if incomprehensible work of art, or an annoying bug. “I don’t feel any guilt that would lessen if I killed someone.”

“People are dying!” the boy exclaimed, hitting the table with his fist. “My family is under attack. We had to go into hiding. Hogwarts is under siege! Diagon Alley was raided! St Mungo’s has no more rooms!”

“I know,” Harry said simply. “And if you believe me or not, I regret it.”

“You regret it?!” The red-head was gritting his teeth. “They are dying, Potter, and you refuse to help them!”

“What about the other side, Ron?” Harry asked softly. “Do you think there are no people dying on the Dark side? No families which have been destroyed? None of their wounded dying because they don’t get medical attention? Because **you** refuse to treat them or their innocent children? I will not contribute to their misery, and I’m sorry to say, but I won’t be the wizarding world’s secret weapon again.” 

“How could I ever be friends with someone like you?!”

“You weren’t,” Harry returned, picking up another letter, this one on pure black parchment, with a glimmering Dark Mark as a seal.

The girl gasped. “Harry...”

Harry opened the letter, unfolding the black parchment, which began to read itself aloud with a powerful, sibilant voice, one Fenrir recognised immediately.

_“Dear Harry Potter,_

_I would have liked to come and see you in person, but I’m rather busy taking over the world, getting rid of all your former friends, thinking of creative ways to torture and kill... I’m sure you get the picture._

_Despite my tight schedule, however, I wanted to contact you with an offer I surely need not spell out. I believe we have been enemies for too long, with moderate success, so now it is time to start a new chapter and become allies. Maybe now that the Light side has shown its true colours, you will be persuaded to see the Dark side in a new Light._

_Of course, I do not expect you to join as an ordinary Death Eater. In fact, I have hopes that you will become my heir (with all due respect to your late parents.) I am aware you think little of my methods, but I’m sure we can discuss them and perhaps adapt to your sensibilities, so as to not overly distress you, nor put strain upon your wee heart (I’m still doubtful I possess such a thing, but should I ever discover its presence, I will offer it up to your appeal.)_

_More to the point, **I am winning** , as I’m sure you already know, not entirely thanks to your prominent absence, but I will soon come to collect some of my faithful followers who have found lodgings in Azkaban. I will expect your answer then._

_Yours sincerely,  
Lord Voldemort_

 

After the voice stopped speaking, the letter seemed content to lie peacefully on the table instead of dramatically bursting into flames or exploding like a bomb. 

Harry reached for the next one.

“Harry.” The girl had a helpless, angry grimace on her face. “You aren’t considering his offer, are you? You aren’t, right?”

“No, just as I’m not considering your or Fudge’s offer, Hermione,” Harry answered. “His threats and your shrieking won’t change that.”

“But we are the good guys!” the boy exclaimed, and Fenrir wondered if he was capable of speaking at a normal volume.

“But according to you, I’m not good anymore, Ron,” Harry replied mildly. “I think we have discussed everything you came here for. Good day.”

He got up, gathered his letters and walked over to Fenrir, dropping down next to him. Soon after, Fenrir felt a small hand on his thigh, offering him something -- one of the letters? He waited until both of Harry’s hands were once more on the table before he pocketed the letter Harry had handed him.

“Quite popular, aren’t you, Harry?” he murmured lowly, glancing at Harry’s stack of letters. “You shouldn’t read them if they insult you.”

Harry shrugged. “Ignoring them doesn’t make them less real.” 

Fenrir motioned to the two visitors, who were still staring at Harry in obvious anger. “No, but it certainly made your friends angry.” 

“I have nothing more to say to them,” Harry stated. “The conversation would only become repetitive, don’t you think? Don’t you want to read your letter?” Fenrir tensed minutely, and Harry turned, looking worried. “What is it?”

“I can’t read very well,” Fenrir finally admitted in a low voice, refusing to look at Harry and see the contempt in his eyes. “I never learned properly.”

Harry put a hand on his forearm, squeezing reassuringly until the werewolf looked up. “Do you want me to read it to you? Unless you think it’s something personal?”

A quite foolish grin spread over Fenrir’s rough features and he wordlessly handed the letter over, his fingers not at all accidentally brushing over Harry’s and lingering there for a few seconds before he allowed Harry to open and unfold the letter, holding it so they could both look at it. Harry read it out, following the lines with his finger so the werewolf may knew what word he was reading out:

_“Greyback,_

_How are you, old man? Still rotting in Azkaban? Anyway, remember the 60 galleons you lost to me? I decided to get married and you know how women are, always demanding jewellry and new dresses and of course the most expensive wedding you can imagine (sometimes, I think you did the right thing keeping the little monsters at arm’s length.) I need the money, Greyback, and since I can’t find your little wolf-friends, I thought I’d write to you. I’m sure you have some secret hiding place for your money (don’t tell me you gave it to Gringotts) so just tell me, and I’ll get it myself. It’s not like you’ll ever have use for it again, will you?_

_We’re getting married in two weeks, so it would be great if you told me were to find the money before that._

_Remember, betting debts are debts of honour,  
Joseph Gailin_

Harry kept staring at the letter in wonder. “Wow, you really have caring friends, don’t you?”

“At least my enemies don’t come to my cell at night,” Fenrir answered. “Was it the Minister? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Harry replied automatically, trying to shrug off Fenrir’s arm that had snaked around his waist. “Nothing I can’t deal with.”

“You smell like blood, my little wolf,” Fenrir murmured in worry. “Will you come tonight so I can take care of you?”

Harry looked at him in surprise. “That sounded almost as if were leaving me a choice.”

“I’ve always left you a choice,” Fenrir returned sternly.

“Well, if you want to call it that.” Harry laughed. “Though I admit you’ve been making an effort, wolfie.”

Fenrir gritted his teeth. “I’ve been trying. You were right: I want something from you, and you don’t want anything I have to offer, so I’d do well not to annoy you too much.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Harry smiled, snuggling into him when Duren passed them, a leer on his face, and Fenrir pulled him deeper into a protective embrace. “I enjoy your company when you aren’t groping me.” Fenrir smirked triumphantly, and the green-eyed man rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ll come tonight, don’t I always?”

Harry turned back to his letters, indifferently reading over them while Fenrir massaged his back with gentle strokes, until two guards came to drag the younger prisoner over to Hermione and Ron. The two annoying teenagers started another emotional attack on the black-haired boy, talking insistently at him. They also took his letters from him, obviously fearing Voldemort might have sent him more offers and information on the planned attack. 

*_*_*

“The letter you got was a fake, wasn’t it?” Harry said in greeting that evening, after his nightly visit to Travers. “You don’t owe anyone money.”

Fenrir nodded in agreement, gently pulling Harry down next to him. “It was from one of my pack. Some of the words were scented differently. I was captured during a raid, and for a long time I didn’t know what had happened to the rest of my pack. They write me under different names from time to time, just to tell me how they’re doing and that they’re still safe. I think your Lupin is with them now. I can smell my pack on his letter.”

“Really?” Harry perked up hopefully. “Can I have my letter?

Fenrir handed Harry the letter he had hidden for the young man, studying him closely while he read it, watching the play of emotions on Harry’s beautiful face. Finally Harry folded the letter again, sighing softly.

“He’s definitely with some werewolves who know you,” Harry murmured. “He says I can trust you. Will he be safe with your pack?”

“Yes, just as you can feel safe with me,” Fenrir grumbled in return. “You should heal yourself, little wolf, you still smell like blood. A lot of blood.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry said absently, pushing his coveralls down so the shirt part pooled around his waist, exposing his bruised upper body and a deep, bleeding gash which ran all the way across his stomach and partly over his back as well. “Hermione’s Slashing Curses are always the worst.” 

“Heal yourself, Harry,” Fenrir ordered, grasping Harry’s shoulders as if to stabilise him. “Goddess, don’t you have any common sense?!”

Harry grumbled unwillingly, but closed his eyes and allowed his magic to wash over his body and heal his injuries. Eventually his eyes fluttered open again to meet smouldering golden ones.

“What did they do? What did those bastards do to you?!” Fenrir growled, still holding Harry tight.

Harry shrugged. “They eventually gave up trying to convince me with words. Hurt me a little.”

“A little? A little?” Fenrir echoed incredulously. “If you bump your big toe into a wall, you’re hurt a little. If you get a sunburn on your nose, you’re hurt a little. But if your bleeding freely and have bruises all over your body, you are **not** hurt a little.”

“So I’ve been hurt a little more than a little,” Harry sounded annoyed. “I’ve healed myself so it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter if there’s a chance they’ll do it again. Will they?” Fenrir demanded to know.

“Maybe,” Harry said evasively, and Fenrir growled. “Okay, yes, they’ll do it again. Until I give into them.” Harry snorted. “Duren has orders to make me see prison life isn’t quite so enjoyable after all.”

Fenrir’s blood ran cold as he heard this. Duren. His little wolf. Duren. No! He had to stop him somehow, had to protect Harry, had to keep him safe. _Rip off Duren’s hands! His balls! Kill him! **Kill him!**_

“Fenrir, calm down,” Harry murmured soothingly, carding his fingers through his silver-grey hair. “Duren won’t touch me sexually, I won’t allow it, and a little torture won’t kill me or break me.”

“Not a little,” Fenrir retorted. “They’ll torture you until you know nothing else but pain, until you wish to die, until you forget who you are, until--“

“I’ll always remember Remus,” Harry said firmly. “And I’ll always remember you. You can remind me of everything else.”

“But--“

“Shush, now, you have to trust me.” Harry put one finger against Fenrir’s lips. “Trust me.”

“Fine,” Fenrir grumbled, before sighing deeply. “But I have the right to worry and look for a way to protect you. And I’ll find one.”

Harry laughed, but nodded in agreement and then put his head on Fenrir’s shoulder. “Can we change the subject now?”

“Not quite. How did you get those scars?” Fenrir asked, tracing one of the white seams he had noticed all those weeks ago in the showers.

“I was a bad boy.” Harry shrugged indifferently. “According to my relatives, I must have been evil incarnate.”

“They did this to you, little wolf?” Fenrir growled angrily, caressing Harry’s spine and pulling him closer, resting his own chin on Harry’s unruly black hair. “If I ever get my hands on them...”

“They are dead. I was convicted for their murder,” Harry murmured lowly. “I guess it’s stupid to miss them.”

“You really didn’t kill them, did you?” Fenrir asked in awe, and Harry shook his head softly against Fenrir’s chest.

“I know they didn’t like me, but they were still my family, and I tried to love them, even though it wasn’t always easy. I would never have harmed them.” Harry’s eyes were pleading with him to believe the truth of his words.

“What happened, my little wolf?” Fenrir asked softly, still stroking Harry’s back, while Harry trembled like a leaf in his embrace. 

“My aunt sent me grocery shopping,” Harry whispered. “When I came back my aunt and uncle were already dead, killed by Death Eaters or Aurors or maybe some insane fans, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, they didn’t deserve to die, not because of me... The whole house was smeared in blood. My cousin... he was still alive, coughing up blood and crying for his Mum. I tried to heal him, but magic can only do so much. He died in my arms.” Tears were running down his pale face. “The next thing I know, Aurors were swarming the house, and they arrested me, accusing me of killing them. My trial... it was short. When they had found me I was covered in blood, wand in hand, and apparently I was the only one with a motive. They brought up all my past mistakes, claimed I had most likely killed Cedric Diggory as well, collaborated with werewolves and Azkaban escapees, that I had failed on purpose to kill Voldemort. Nobody but Remus spoke up for me, and so they merely debated how to handle me being underage. I wanted him to just let it rest because I was worried about him, but he wouldn’t listen. But he has to be okay.”

“Lupin is nothing but a fighter,” Fenrir murmured soothingly. “Though he has the habit of fighting for the wrong things. If I can survive Azkaban, Lupin can survive my pack. I assure you it’s not so easy to get rid of a werewolf, look at me!”

Harry laughed, glancing up at the werewolf. “How long have you been in here?”

“About five years.” Fenrir shrugged. “Fifty-eight full moons until you came and nine full moons since then.”

“And...”

“Why?” Fenrir offered, and Harry nodded timidly, bringing a bitter smirk to the werewolf’s face. “Do you know that I was the one who turned Lupin? Condemned him to this life he so loathes?”

“He mentioned it in his letter,” Harry replied softly. “He said you were his Sire.”

“But I bet you don’t know he was only five when I bit him,” Fenrir retorted, glaring at nothing in particular. “They say I mutilated children, stole them out of their beds at night and turned them into beasts like myself,” Fenrir’s voice was low and rough, and Harry didn’t dare to interrupt him. “I bit three children. I became a werewolf when I was nineteen, twenty maybe. My Sire was killed by hunters before he could teach me anything about this curse or gift, how I call it now. When my first full moon came I was not prepared for the overwhelming call of the moon. I was near a Muggle village, and I bit a small boy. He was six then, and he almost died from his injuries. I took him to a hospital and told them he had been attacked by a stray dog. He survived, barely, but when I brought him back to his parents and tried to explain to them what had happened and what would become of their son, they disowned him, and I suddenly found myself with a black eye and a crying six-year-old.”

He paused, taking a deep breath and chancing a look at the lithe Animagus in his arms to make sure Harry was still listening. 

“Fortunately, I met another werewolf soon after. We fought for dominance, I won, naturally, and he has been my beta ever since. We picked up a few other werewolves, but none of us knew how to take care of or treat a child. I decided Chetan, the little boy, needed a playmate, so I bit a girl around his age. She died during her first transformation, and I made the mistake of returning her body to her parents, who by the way had also cast her out on the streets when they heard about her being a werewolf. She looked really bad. But the cub still needed someone and so I picked Lupin. He seemed strong enough to survive the transformation. But I hadn’t counted on my bad reputation, and when I tried to explain everything to him and his parents, they called the Aurors, threatening me with their wands. So I left, and Lupin was made to believe werewolves were evil beasts and should all be killed sooner rather than later. You know the rest. Lupin hates himself, and I was captured years, decades after I had bitten Lupin when the Ministry decided it was time to decimate the number of werewolves lest we grew strong enough to revolt against them. It must’ve been an hour of triumph for them when they realised they had got their hands on the child murderer Greyback.”

“That doesn’t sound to me like you are the big bad wolf you want me to believe you are,” Harry murmured gently. “You tried to do what you thought best for your pack. And you must have been a good Alpha or they wouldn’t still write to you. Do you miss them?”

“Of course,” Fenrir replied, absently sniffing Harry’s hair. “I miss having someone to order around, but now that I’ve got you...”

Harry gave an enraged shout, digging one sharp elbow into Fenrir’s side. “Idiotic wolf, and I almost thought you were doing better.”

“Oh, I’m doing much better,” Fenrir rumbled, tightening his hold on Harry. “I’ve learned from my mistakes, and this time you won’t slip away from me, my little wolf.”

“Is that a challenge?” Harry grinned, wriggling teasingly.

“No, little white one.” Fenrir pinned Harry to his side, growling softly. “It was a... request. Please, stay here tonight.”

“It must be hard for you,” Harry pondered. “Asking instead of ordering. You must really be desperate to keep me.”

“Not desperate,” Fenrir argued. “Just very highly motivated to not be alone again... Why are you still here?”

“I thought you wanted me here,” Harry startled, looking up in shock. “I can go...”

“No. Why are you still in Azkaban?” Fenrir corrected. “You can easily get out of your cell and into mine, can heal yourself, call a house-elf. It should be easy enough for you to get out of Azkaban, so why are you still here?”

“You ask that now?” Harry chuckled. “After all these months?”

“I didn’t want to give you any ideas,” Fenrir grumbled, and Harry’s lips quirked in amusement. “Now, answer the question.”

Sadness clouded Harry’s face. “I don’t have anything worth escaping for. My family is dead, my friends betrayed me, and Remus is probably safer without me. If I escaped, I would’ve to chose a side, and frankly I’m tired of fighting and being used as a weapon. In here, I have the chance to be neutral. Does that make me a coward, Fen?”

The werewolf was at first too stunned at Harry using a nickname for him and the sound of it as Harry murmured it almost directly in his ear, so it took him a moment to realise Harry had asked him a question, and then another moment to react, as he hoped, appropriately.

“No!” By Harry’s shocked expression, his volume mostly likely hadn’t been appropriate. “I mean, no, you aren’t a coward. No one likes to be used, and this is not your war any more than it is mine.”

“But you supported Voldemort, didn’t you?” Harry questioned. “You fought on his side.”

“Wizards have always looked down on werewolves, to them we are monsters, I even more so than others,” Fenrir replied bitterly. “Voldemort wants power, and to him it doesn’t matter who can help him achieve it. He promised us equality and a separate, independent werewolf society, governed by werewolves and not by some self-important, prejudiced prat. We fought for him, but he protected us in turn, warding my territory so no wizard, not even he himself, would be able to enter without being led by a werewolf. He treated me like an equal, respected me, and I gave him my respect in return.” The silver-haired man shrugged, jostling Harry. “I know he killed your parents and tried to kill you, but when he fell, it was a very dark day for me and my pack.”

“It was a dark day for me too,” Harry said softly.

“I know,” Fenrir murmured soothingly and pulled the blanket up around Harry’s narrow shoulders. “I know.”


	5. Shelter

When Fenrir woke again, it was to the sound of rattling breath which came steadily closer. Maybe it was due to him being a werewolf, but the Dementors didn’t affect him like they did other prisoners. He wasn’t scared of them, and he only ever felt slightly uncomfortable in their presence. The prevailing feeling in him was always the urge to rip out their throats and watch them turn to ash. 

_Insatiable, disgusting pests!_

Their nightly patrols disturbed his sleep only because the other prisoners moaned and muttered as the Dementors approached, then screamed and shivered, begged and pleaded for mercy that would never come.

It took him a moment to realise he had fallen asleep and another two to become aware of the warm, comforting weight on his chest. Harry had stayed the night; Harry had fallen asleep in his arms! 

But something wasn’t right. Harry was trembling and mumbling words like “no” and “don’t” and “please,” while his nails dug into his palms and tears rolled down his face. Yet the Dementors had not even reached their corridor.

Fenrir gave Harry’s shoulder a gentle nudge, turning it into a shake when Harry showed no reaction. “Harry?” A whimper was his only reply. “Damnit, little one, wake up!” 

He earned only a shudder and a drawn-out “Nooooo. . .”

“Come on, Harry, wake up...”

Fenrir futilely tried to shake Harry awake, but that just furthered the youngster's distress. He held the green-eyed boy close to his body, rocking him as he had seen mothers do with their children, made what he deemed reassuring sounds. By the time the Dementors passed his cell, Harry had fainted, his face wet with tears and his hands clutching bunches of silver hair. Fenrir was annoyed and more than a little protective. 

They had hurt his little wolf!

*_*_*

“Wha...” Harry’s voice was still choked with tears when his eyes fluttered open a good half hour later. “Oh.”

He blushed when he found himself lying on top of Fenrir, safely enclosed in his strong arms, but made no move to do anything about it, instead burying his face against the werewolf’s neck, crying silently.

Fenrir uncertainly patted Harry's back, gentling the pats when Harry winced under the force of them. 

“I see everyone die again when they come close,” Harry whispered a while later. “And I see my trial again and Voldemort’s torture sessions. It’s just a little much all at once, you know? I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t.” Fenrir shrugged. “They don’t affect me, but I still hear the other prisoners.”

“Oh, then I’m sorry for lying on you. Do you want me to leave?”

“Stupid little human,” Fenrir rebuked him. “Do you really think I would let you go? Besides, it’s not your fault you have nightmares. Now calm down.”

He pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead, rubbing his bearded cheek over Harry’s smooth one, and was relieved when Harry snickered in response instead of drawing back.

“That tickles,” Harry murmured, skidding lower so he could listen to Fenrir’s heart beat. “Fen? I’ve been thinking, and maybe... Do you think if Voldemort doesn’t kill me, I could come with you?”

“Where else would you go, you silly little wolf?” Fenrir grumbled. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here if I have to, and Voldemort won’t dare to harm you. You’re pack now.”

Harry’s face lit up in a brilliant smile that made Fenrir’s blood pool in his nether regions, and he shifted, hoping Harry wouldn’t notice his excitement for fear that he would leave again.

“Really? And you’ll let Remus stay as well?” Harry asked pleadingly, and Fenrir nodded with difficulty. “Thank you, Fen.” Harry hugged him tightly, snuggling into his broad chest. “Maybe there is something worth escaping for, what do you think?”

“I think I’m quite content right now.” Fenrir’s voice was rougher and hoarser than usual, and then he gave in to his more primal needs and spun them around so Harry’s was pinned under his larger frame, held safely in place.

“What...?” Harry stared up at him in surprise.

“I’m going to kiss you now, little wolf,” Fenrir declared before doing just that, pressing his lips to Harry’s in a kiss full of passion and desperation and possessiveness, while grinding his body against Harry’s.

Harry froze like a skittish animal faced with the sharp jaws of a predator, and the werewolf felt the large green eyes stare at him in wonder and fear. But he didn’t mind, didn’t care because he had made his choice. He would never let Harry walk away from him to be claimed by someone else, and he wanted this to be more than a platonic relationship. Caution and patience was overrated, especially after almost six months of waiting.

There was just something about Harry that held him absolutely spellbound and still drew him in deeper, every time he looked into those emerald-green eyes. His little wolf was like the irresistible call of the moon; less intrusive, less commanding, but no less compelling. 

Harry’s hands were pushing against his chest, but he barely noticed as he plundered Harry’s sweet mouth and allowed his own hands to roam over Harry’s body and even under his coveralls. The black-haired man mumbled something like a protest, but it turned out to be a half-whimper, when Fenrir’s teeth grazed his lips.

Suddenly, Fenrir howled in pain, protectively holding his lower stomach. His groin stung with a biting cold, and he stared down at Harry’s glowing-blue hands and angry eyes, while Harry glared back at him reproachfully.

“I hope that cooled you down. I told you, I’m not going to pay for your friendship in this currency,” Harry said coldly. “I think we’ll call it a day, Greyback.”

“I was merely taking the next step,” Fenrir gasped out between painful breaths, moving to block the door to prevent Harry from leaving. “I wasn’t taking advantage of you, I was just kissing you. Don’t you know the difference, you stupid cub?”

“I know the difference between being pressed into moulding straw with a heavy body almost suffocating me and a real kiss where I have a choice and actually want to participate,” Harry hissed at him. “But obviously it’s you who doesn’t know the difference!”

“Well, excuse me, but it’s been a while since I kissed anyone, and it’s unlikely I’ll find someone else to kiss in the near future...”

“So I’m just a transitional solution until you find someone else?” Harry asked incredulously. “Well, that’s flattering.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry!” Fenrir growled in annoyance. “I’m an Alpha, I have to take responsibility, and I can’t just hop in and out of my pack members’ beds just because the fancy strikes me. I’ll always protect and take care of my pack and that means you as well.”

“I know that.” Harry sighed in frustration. “Merlin, Fenrir, can’t you just... do you always have to... Damnit, I don’t like to be forced, I don’t like to be held down, and I don’t like be reminded of--“ He broke off abruptly, changing the subject. “You must be lonely.”

“Harry... yes, I miss my pack.” Fenrir shook his head. “What is it you don’t want to be reminded of?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. You never allowed yourself to let anyone get close to you because you feared a relationship would influence your decisions and compromise the safety of your pack.” Harry said, caressing Fenrir’s cheek. 

“I’m a good Alpha,” Fenrir replied tersely, by way of acknowledgement.

It was true after all; being an Alpha often meant being alone. For as long as he could remember, he had never had anyone to confide in, and emotional attachment was a foreign concept. He was the leader, he had the responsibility, and his needs always came last, though outwardly he had all the power. But he still missed his pack, he missed having others to care for, and he didn’t want to screw this up with Harry. Harry’s needs came before his, again.

Harry nodded, butting noses with the werewolf. “I don’t doubt it, but it’s obvious you have no idea of how to treat your lover. Suffocating me with your bulk of a body is not what I would call even remotely enjoyable.” Harry scowled at him. “If you think I will stand for that kind of treatment you have another thing coming.”

Fenrir stared into Harry’s smouldering eyes, wondering what he could do to make Harry see reason. Then he kissed Harry. This time the kiss wasn’t desperate and demanding, but gentle and sweet and almost questioning.

Harry’s lips were like velvet under his, smooth and warm and full, and offered no resistance to his probing tongue, moving timidly under his own rougher and harder ones. He tried to rein in his passions, but he couldn’t stop his hands from snaking around Harry’s thin waist, drawing the slender man closer to his own body.

Harry put his arms around Fenrir’s neck, tangling his fingers in his silver hair, and for the first time in a long time he felt warm and sheltered. A soft moan escaped his mouth, and Fenrir, encouraged by this, deepened the kiss until their tongues were battling for dominance.

Eventually Fenrir drew back a little, just enough for both of them to gasp for breath, but kept his arms around Harry.

“Good kiss?” the werewolf demanded with a smirk as he noticed Harry’s flushed cheeks. “Or should I try again?”

“Shut up before I think better of it” Harry retorted, narrowing his eyes at him. “You wanted to take care of me.”

“I wanted to do more than that,” Fenrir offered cautiously, nibbling on Harry’s ear.

“What’s stopping you?” Harry murmured. “I believe you promised me once you could make me crave your kisses and your touch. Prove it!”

Fenrir’s growl resounded in the small cell as he pounced on Harry, carried him over to the straw bed, where he covered the lithe body with his own. Meanwhile, his mouth devoured Harry’s and his hands wandered over Harry’s chest and hips, stroking and caressing and eliciting soft moans from the younger man.

“Are you sure you want this, cub?” he still asked, afraid Harry would panic or get angry again.

“I’m sure I told you not to call me ‘cub’,” Harry replied evenly. “Now, what’s is it going to be, big bad wolf? Either we have sex now or we escape from here, but we’re not going to talk anymore.”

“You changed your opinion rather quickly, didn’t you, sweet one?” Fenrir murmured in between harsh nips and gentle kisses to Harry’s neck. “What happened to not wanting to pay for my protection?”

“This is not payment, this is fun, pleasure, whatever you want to call it, purely selfish, in any event. I didn’t agree earlier because you didn’t give me a **chance** to agree,” Harry sounded exasperated and pushed Fenrir slightly away so he could look at him, taking Fenrir’s head between his pale white hands. “You care about me, yes? Great, I like you as well. You make me feel safe, and maybe you can make me feel alive as well, or something other than betrayal and hopelessness. Do you think you can do that, Fen, or do I need to find someone else?”

“You bet I can,” Fenrir growled possessively, thinking to himself he would prevent Harry from ever finding someone else again.

Harry released Fenrir's head, teasingly fluttered his eyes, and arched up into him. His hands skimmed over his own body in a seductive dance, thin fingers tracing the subtle pectoral muscles and circling the dusty pink nipples, as he sighed blissfully.

Fenrir watched in fascination, too transfixed to do anything but stare. Harry’s pale skin gleamed in the moonlight, like moonlight itself. Fenrir felt the wolf in him rise closer to the surface, urging him to touch and taste and do indescribable things to his little wolf. Harry had slipped his coveralls from his shoulders, pushing the shirt to his waist, giving Fenrir a perfect view on his upper body. Another soft moan alerted Fenrir to one of Harry’s hands that had disappeared under the waistband, following the sprinkling of dark hair that led to Harry’s manhood.

“Fen!” Harry whined, stopping his teasing and looked expectantly up at him. “How many invitations do you need?! I didn’t think this would turn into a one-man-show. Do you want me or not?”

Instead of a verbal answer, the werewolf pounced. He batted Harry’s hand away from the delectable body and pinned both of them over his head with as much gentleness as he could muster. Harry sent him an almost evil grin, bucking up against him, and tried to free his wrists to no avail, while twisting and turning underneath Fenrir, seemingly unintentionally rubbing against the werewolf and making him growl long and loud, all but howling.

Harry started. “Wait. I want to ward the cell if you’re going to be so vocal.”

“I’ve no problem with being overheard,” Fenrir grumbled, but he released Harry’s hands so he could do his little magic tricks. “You couldn’t have thought of this earlier, could you? No, you had to get me all hot and bothered first.”

Harry grinned. “Exactly. Besides, you were ‘all hot and bothered’ from the very beginning. Now, move a little, I have to see the door, and you’re in the way.”

Fenrir reluctantly moved away from his soon-to-be lover, watching with jealous eyes as Harry focused briefly on the silver bars and then imperiously waved his hands at them, covering them with a purple sheen that was absorbed into the silver. With another look around the cell, Harry scowled unhappily at the dingy atmosphere, and even more at the dirty straw. 

Fenrir noticed the look and gruffly pulled Harry back into his arms. “Don’t turn into a girl now, Harry.”

“I just want it to be clean,” Harry murmured absently. “Don’t worry, Fen, roses and candlelight are not my kind of thing...” 

He picked up a piece of straw, twirled it between his fingers, then let it drop. He held his hands over the remaining straw, which slowly turned back into its original golden colour, smelling just as fresh and clean as new. Then he repaired the blanket and cleaned it, and Fenrir was surprised to see it was blue and not, as he had always thought, a greyish-brown.

Harry finally declared himself satisfied with a, “That’s better,” and Fenrir was eager to finally get on with it. But Harry gave him a sideways smile. “Now for you.”

“Excuse me?!” Fenrir spluttered, capturing Harry’s hands again before he could use his magic on him. “What is that supposed to mean? I am clean.”

“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” Harry stated, tearing free from his grasp and reaching for Fenrir’s coveralls, where the fabric barely managed to stretch over Fenrir’s broad shoulder.

But the werewolf had finally had enough and stripped down to his naked skin on his own, shredding his coveralls along the way. He then made quick work of Harry’s clothes as well.

The black-haired man laughed. “Finally. I had almost given up hope for you... Show me what you’ve got, wolfie.”

The golden eyes sparkled dangerously, but Harry only sprawled out on the new straw, spread for him to see, using the rolled up blanket for a pillow. 

Fenrir growled, letting himself fall onto Harry -- or at least intending to -- except Harry slipped out from under him, using Fenrir’s temporary confusion and imbalance to reverse their positions. 

“Now, now, Fen, who said you were going to be on top?” Harry taunted, gently tracing Fenrir’s jawline with one finger before leaning down to nip along his neck and throat.

The silver-haired man snarled angrily, successfully switching their positions again. “I’m stronger than you, I’m older than you, I’m your Alpha, and you’re a skinny little wizard whose magic doesn’t work on me. Of course I’m going to top.”

“I don’t spread my legs for just anyone,” Harry said sternly, trying to sidle out from under him.

“I know, but I’m not just anyone, am I?” Fenrir whispered in Harry’s ear.

“No, I guess you’re not.” Harry smiled, relaxing into the straw.

“You guess?!" The werewolf warningly nipped Harry’s ear. "I’m your Alpha, my little wolf, and I’m going to fuck you until you’re sore and don’t know anymore if you should beg for me to stop or to fuck you even harder. I’ve had enough of your games. Will you behave now, or do I have to become unpleasant?”

“Fuck me harder,” Harry returned with a smirk, somehow managing to wrap his legs around Fenrir’s waist. “We’ve wasted too much time already, my Alpha.”

Fenrir groaned in something between lust and satisfaction at hearing Harry acknowledge him as his Alpha, but was also stupidly relieved when Harry stayed put as he cautiously let up on him, just enough to be able to enter the suddenly so pliant and willing body. 

How often had Harry done this, anyway? He hoped dearly Harry wasn’t a virgin, but at the same time, a selfish little voice in his mind wished Harry was one, so Fenrir would, for always, be the only one to claim this moonlight beauty. But how much experience Harry had was hardly an issue he wanted to deal with now, and they had done enough foreplay and stalling for his taste. Still, Fenrir wasn’t exactly on the small side, and Harry didn’t look like he could take him in without any preparation or lubrication. Yet Fenrir didn’t have the time or patience for the former, nor the means for the latter.

Harry solved this problem for him, however, as he drew Fenrir’s left hand into his mouth and swiftly sucked two of his long fingers, coating them with saliva. He then released Fenrir’s hand and immediately turned his attention to Fenrir’s manhood, bending at an impossible angle to gently lap at it, covering it in saliva and driving the werewolf to the edge of orgasm.

 _Goddess, but the little minx knew what he was doing!_ Fenrir groaned, hastily pushing one wet finger into Harry, who tensed and choked around his erection when a scream wanted to rip from his throat. Fenrir threaded the fingers of his other hand through Harry’s soft inky hair and tugged lightly, making Harry stop and look up at him in askance.

“I want to come inside of you, little one,” Fenrir stated, lifting his hand to his mouth and biting in his palm so blood gushed over his palm and ran down his arm.

Harry made a sound between disgust and distress, his eyes widening when Fenrir slicked his erection with blood, and shuddered when blood dripped on his stomach. 

“Fen, you’re not going to stick that into me...” Harry’s protests were cut short as the werewolf jerked the finger out of Harry and, with one quick thrust, replaced it with his much larger erection. In one smooth motion, he buried himself to the hilt, eliciting a loud keen from Harry.

“Bastard,” the younger man ground out. Pain flared up his spine as he shifted. “Bastard,” he whimpered once again, trying to somehow adjust to Fenrir’s length inside of him, breathing slowly and deeply to relax his muscles or to at least master the pain.

It shouldn’t have been so hard to take, after all the pain he had experienced in his life, he decided, but somehow knowing he had provoked this, **asked** for it, combined with the nauseating smell of blood, intensified the pain, and nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“That shut you up, did it?” Fenrir commented gruffly, but his hands caressing Harry’s body were gentle, and he made sure not to move his hips or jostle Harry. “Stupid, little wolf, talking big and then not ready to face the consequences. Silly, little human.”

Harry sent him a weak glare, but was otherwise too preoccupied with the pain to form any kind of reply.

Fenrir studied Harry’s drawn face with concern. Damnit, he shouldn’t have acted out of an impulse! Now Harry was in pain, and he wasn’t any nearer to release than before.

“Fen?” Harry whispered after a few minutes. As he carefully rolled his hips, a grimace of pain flitted over his face. “You better make me feel good now, or I might never let you touch me again.”

“Of course, with pleasure.” Fenrir smirked, swooping down to press a kiss to Harry’s pink lips before carefully pulling out a little and then thrusting back in.

Harry groaned, still mostly pain, but with the following thrusts, his discomfort eased, and he began to respond more, encouraging Fenrir to go faster, harder, deeper.

Fenrir’s answer was to set up a deep, hard rhythm, pistoning in and out of the slight body, angling his movements slightly until a pleasure-filled moan reached his sensitive ears. Harry jerked underneath him, his nails scraping over Fenrir’s shoulders and his back. One of Harry's pale hands reached for his own manhood, but Fenrir batted it away, leaving a trail of dark red blood on Harry’s hip.

“You’ll come from my touch, and my touch alone, my little wolf,” he growled. “Don’t touch what is mine!”

Harry’s eyes snapped open to glare at him, but a punishing thrust from Fenrir sent him back into the realms of all-consuming pleasure, and he wailed lowly. He met the werewolf’s next thrust with a cautious push of his hips, managing to take Fenrir in even deeper with this new angle, a slight burning pain accompanying the pleasure it brought him.

Fenrir looked down on the pale beauty smeared in blood, feeling his control slipping, and his thrusts became almost frantic. He wrapped his hand around Harry’s leaking manhood, stroking it roughly, until the younger man came, tensing and shuddering and keening. The heat around Fenrir’s manhood, the fine rippling muscles and the sight of Harry’s convulsing form pushed him over the edge, and he spilled his load inside the tight, little wizard, howling his pleasure and Harry’s name out into the night.

He carefully pulled out, taking in the bloody mess between Harry’s thighs with a slight frown. It was not only his own blood that he had used as lubrication, but also Harry’s, though thankfully not so much as to cause real worry. He gently shifted Harry’s prone form so he could spoon around him, drawing him to his chest and tenderly patting the sable hair. Fenrir knew their mating had been forceful even to the point of being brutal, and he wanted Harry to wake and know he was cared for and cherished and not just a vessel for him to satisfy his sexual urges. 

Harry’s breathing was even and deep, telling Fenrir he had slipped into a peaceful slumber and wouldn’t wake anytime soon. While he studied Harry’s sleeping face, he thought it might go over better if Harry didn’t awaken covered in blood, as much as the sight aroused Fenrir. Thus, he scooted lower, spreading Harry’s thighs again, and slowly licked Harry clean of blood and semen that slowly trickled out of him. Harry shifted, a soft sigh escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake, even when Fenrir finished licking his lower body and continued on to his stomach and chest, then cleaned off the few splatters of blood that had landed on Harry’s neck, shoulder and face.

Fenrir was beginning to worry that something was wrong, when Harry finally woke up and sent him a lazy smile. “Hey,” Harry mumbled, rolling around and wincing in slight pain. 

“Hey, you too,” Fenrir replied gruffly, absently tracing Harry’s spine with one finger. “Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Maybe a little.” The green-eyed wizard shrugged indifferently. “I feel good. I **feel**.”

“I had noticed,” Fenrir said with a chuckle, earning himself a swat on the arm.

“I believe you enjoyed yourself as well,” Harry returned, snuggling into Fenrir’s arms. “Thanks for cleaning off the blood. I just can’t stand it, I've seen too much of it in my life.”

“We needed some kind of lubrication, more than just your spit,” the silver-haired man explained, not quite apologetically. “I would have torn you to shreds otherwise.”

“I know.” Harry shrugged again, “But I could have done a Lubrication Charm. You needn’t have hurt yourself.”

Fenrir laughed, showing off his unharmed hands. “Hurt myself, little one? Never heard of werewolf healing, have you?”

“Just because you heal fast doesn’t mean you don’t feel the pain, does it?” Harry argued softly, kissing his chest. “Fen, I didn’t mean to offend you, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I know, my little moonlight beauty. I wasn’t offended, what made you think so?”

Harry looked away.

“Harry.” When the green-eyed man didn’t acknowledge him, Fenrir sighed. “Harry, look at me. I didn’t mean to hurt you, this wasn’t my revenge for how long you held out on me. Don’t think that of me. I just... I never had sex--“

“What?!” Harry stared up at him as if he was some alien with green tentacles growing out of his head.

“I never had sex **with someone who wasn’t a werewolf** ,” Fenrir continued with a glare at Harry for interrupting him. “I always forget you’re not like me, that I could really hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m not made of glass, either.” Harry said with a shrug. “I just thought you were angry.”

“I know you were teasing me,” Fenrir assured him. “I’m still your Alpha, though, and I demand respect, Harry. Always.”

“I demand respect as well,” Harry replied. “I’m not going to let you walk all over me, Fen, and I’m not going to obey you without question.”

Fenrir growled, pressing Harry into the straw, menacingly hovering over him, baring his teeth when Harry just stared at him, not lowering his gaze or exposing his throat as he would expect from one of his pack.

“I’m not going to hurt you, my small one, but you’ll obey me and submit to me or bear the consequences. Your magic doesn’t impress me, and I’ll easily keep you in my arms and prevent you from moving one single inch until that rebellious streak of yours dies down.”

“I know you’re physically stronger than me, and that’s all the more reason to not let you dominate me. I’ve been a toy and a weapon for my whole life. Do you really think I’m interested in that kind of relationship again? That’s what you reminded me of earlier, my own weakness.” Harry shook his head. “If you care for me, you won’t force me, Fen.”

“It’s my job as your Alpha,” the werewolf protested, leaning down to brush a kiss over Harry’s lips. “I can’t just switch off my dominating nature.”

“I never expected you to.” Harry scowled at him. “But I don’t... I want respect, as well.”

“And I do respect you. How could I not, the way you fought in the showers, spent time with me during the full moon and managed to slip away from me so often? You aren’t weak, far from it. I’m just stronger, which is nothing for you to be ashamed of. I’ve never met anyone who was stronger than I,” Fenrir argued, quite smug. “But do you think that means I don’t respect my pack? I don’t obey them, true, and I expect them to submit to me, but I show my respect by taking care of them, protecting them and listening to their wishes, as I’ll do for you.”

Harry peered at him closely, his scowl turning into a pensive expression. “I suppose I could try, but I can’t allow anyone to rule my life again. I just can’t, Fen.”

“I understand that, Harry. I won’t order you around unnecessarily, and your life is still your choice. You can decide what you want or don’t want to do.”

“Really?” Harry asked hopefully, smiling brightly when Fenrir nodded. “Then, I want you to stop hovering over me.”

Fenrir grunted in agreement, rolling off of Harry, then laid down on the soft, fresh straw. He even allowed Harry to bed his head in the crook of Fenrir's neck. Harry threw one thin arm over Fenrir’s stomach. 

“We have to get past eight guards,” Harry stated suddenly, shifting closer. “Two at the entrance to the upper level, two more who stand guard at the entrance outside and the last four patrolling all around the island. And Dementors.”

The slender man shuddered, and Fenrir gently rubbed his lower back. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that now. Tonight we’ll reenergise, and maybe I can make sure you remember how it feels to be **feeling**.” He suggestively slapped Harry’s bottom, drawing an indignant shout from the black-haired wizard. “We’ll escape tomorrow when it’ll take longer for them to notice we’re gone. Don’t worry about the guards.”

“But...”

“Harry, I can handle them, and as long as you can open the cell door, I will get the two of us out of here.” 

“Three, Travers is coming with us.”

“And who decided that?” Fenrir growled. “He’s not going to come with us, he’s only going to hold us up.”

Harry glared. “He’s coming with us. I’m not leaving him here where he might be raped again.” 

“I’m not taking him with us. Voldemort will come soon and free all the prisoners. He’ll hardly die from waiting two weeks or so longer.” 

“And how would you know?” Harry retorted. “You’ve been ignoring him all these years, you just looked aside, didn’t you? Because he’s a wizard, and he deserved it, and because you couldn’t be bothered to care that he’s scared out of his mind and that he's trying to find a way to kill himself. I’m not leaving him here alone, I’m not.”

“Now wait a minute, I’m not his babysitter. I’m not some saint who wants to protect everyone. That’s your job, obviously.”

“Exactly, you can’t change me, and Travers needs me. He **needs** me, Fen.”

“Voldemort--“

“Voldemort won’t care. He’ll free all the Death Eaters, and Travers can’t fight side by side with them again. He’ll be killed as a traitor,” Harry reasoned. “If he’s lucky, he’ll be killed immediately.”

“He’ll slow us down,” Fenrir tried it again, but had the sinking feeling that he had already lost the argument. 

“I’ll slow you down,” Harry whispered in his ear, nuzzling his neck. “I’m no werewolf, remember? Please? I don’t want another death on my conscience... I don’t want him to die because of me, I don’t want you to die...”

“And why would I die?” Fenrir asked in confusion. “I doubt you’d manage to kill me even if you sneaked up on me in my sleep.”

“I kill everyone.” Harry closed his eyes. “Everyone I care for dies.”

Fenrir sneered. “So you think just because you care for me, I should drop dead now, should I?” 

“No, but there’re a lot of people who’d like to see me dead and wouldn’t hesitate to kill you to get to me,” Harry answered, worry clear in his voice. “That’s why we have to have a plan, we can’t just storm out of here and expect everything to go perfectly. They’ll follow us and hunt us down with Aurors and Dementors, they...”

“It’s not like I have many friends out there or in here, either.” The werewolf smirked wryly, ignoring Harry’s scowl. “Besides, I won’t die, and neither will you, nor your pet Death Eater. I don’t like you saying things like that.”

“Your optimism is all well and good,” Harry retorted. “But it’ll help neither of us, and if someone else died because of me...” Harry choked, burying his face in his hands in despair, and drew away from Fenrir. When the werewolf uncertainly reached out to pat Harry’s back or pull him into his arms or kiss away his pain, Harry jerked away. “Don’t touch me, I’ll kill you.”

“So what if I died?” Fenrir asked, causing Harry’s head to snap up. “It’s still my life and my decision, little wolf. And if I decide to throw myself between you and a curse, there’s nothing you could do about it, because I made my choice. Whether you push me away or accept me with open arms will influence the quality of my life, not the quantity. That I promise. I promise, Harry. Trust me a little.”

Harry sniffled quite loudly, but before Fenrir could ask him if he was okay, the green-eyed wizard threw himself into Fenrir's embrace with so much force he knocked the werewolf over and onto the straw. Harry kissed him on the cheek and on the nose and on the lips and covered his whole face with his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered over and over again. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Fenrir asked, carefully rearranging Harry’s body on his.

“For not making me responsible, not blaming me,” Harry murmured, nuzzling the crook of the werewolf’s neck. “You can’t imagine how good it feels.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You believe me, small one, yes?” Fenrir questioned.

“As much as I ever believed someone,” Harry answered sincerely, looking at him with luminescent eyes. “But I still want you to be careful, please? Just for me? Think of all the amazing sex you’d miss.”

Fenrir burst out laughing, tugging Harry’s head down for a kiss. “Bribery? Why, who would have thought you had it in you? What kind of man would I be if I said ‘no’ to such an offer?”

“Not someone I’d like to touch me,” Harry murmured softly, closing the remaining distance between their faces, gently licking and nipping at Fenrir’s lips, even skipping his tongue into the werewolf’s mouth until Fenrir had enough and started the counter-attack, engaging Harry in a possessive and demanding kiss.

Finally, Harry drew back with a small gasp for air. “Sex?”

“Sex now! Escape later!” Fenrir returned decisively, smirking. “Mine forever!

“Idiot.”

The werewolf menacingly bared his teeth before he proceeded to ravish Harry thoroughly, leaving love bites on the milky skin, rubbing his scent into Harry’s pores and generally marking Harry as his and his alone. 

Later, when Harry lay snuggled into his side, tired out from their activities, Fenrir thought that, although Harry had easily fulfilled all his basic needs with his mere presence, a snap of his fingers and a wave of his hands, the younger man needed more than a little help to fulfill one of the most essential aspects of life, one the werewolf had previously taken for granted: hope.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because this is a repost, it doesn't mean you can't review, right?  
> PS: I'll try to post the sequel in the next few days, so if you liked this story, be sure to keep a lookout for that :).


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